Executions
by oboe11
Summary: Norbert returns with an assignment that pushes Hogan to his limits and leaves Carter in charge of the team. A look at the team's role in end of the war and what may still be classified...
1. Chapter 1: March 31, 1945

The TV show "Hogan's Heroes" belongs to Bing Crosby Productions. No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred, and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Norbert first appeared in "Close Every Door to Me", written in 2006. You may wish to read it ahead of time; however it is not necessary to follow this story.

The fictional characters will be interacting with characters representing real people from World War II. Having not known them personally, I take full responsibility if they are not true-to-life. Some points in history have been slightly changed allow the Hogan's Heroes characters to fit into the known timeline.

* * *

**Execution** (ěk'sĭ-**kyōō**'shən): n.

1. The act of executing something.

2. The manner, style, or result of performance: _The plan was sound; its execution, faulty._

3. The act or an instance of putting to death or being put to death as a lawful penalty.

4. _Archaic_ Effective, punitive, or destructive action.

_The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition_

March 31, 1945

The lone black car sat in silence of the dark forest near Hammelburg, waiting on the side of the dirt track of a road that wound between the tall pines. Inside, a small man dressed in a black trench coat and fedora tilted down low across his face, rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold. It was the end of March in southern Germany, and while the days were getting warmer with a hint of spring in the air, the nights were still frigid and snow remained in the ditches, forests, and shaded parts of the land. His breath crystallized in white puffs and fogged up the windows of the car, helping to disguise his features to anyone who would pass by. Not that anyone would happen by on chance at this time of night in this remote location.

As he awaited his contact, the man contemplated his orders. The man he was waiting for was to be captured at all costs and dealt with in a specific manner. No harm was to come to him; gain his co-operation if possible through whatever means necessary. A ridiculous order that he would have ignored under other circumstances. But the consequences of disobeying this direct order had been made painfully clear to him – whatever befell his contact would be reciprocated on himself twofold. Orders were orders, no matter what foul taste they left in ones mouth.

The man peeled back the cuff of his glove and angled his arm to catch the moon's reflection on his watch face. A quiet "Bah!" escaped under his breath over the fact that there was still 5 minutes to go before his contact was due. Patience was not his forte. He was starting to get cold…or was that a shiver of anticipation for the upcoming meeting? It certainly could not be nerves, not after the years he had been waiting for this day to happen. The man returned his glove to shut out the whisper of cold air that had breathed over his wrist. _Would his contact be late? How long past the rendezvous time should he wait? Would his contact be suspicious if he remained?_ The minutes ticked on…

* * *

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, former US Army Air Corps pilot and commander of the 504th Bomber Group, lately Senior POW of Luftstalag 13, paused against a tree in the forest and caught his breath, large clouds billowing around his head diminishing quickly as his breathing slowed.

At 19:00, Baker had received a call from London requesting an emergency meeting at 23:00 with one of their Underground agents who had acquired top secret information that London needed right away. Hogan usually preferred to cover these types of meets alone, so by 22:00, Hogan had been dressed completely in black and mounting the ladder to exit the camp through their tunnel system. He was frantically called back by his team when Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of said POW camp, called an impromptu roll call. This resulted in Colonel Hogan running back through the tunnels, stripping off gloves and black jacket to be replaced with his bomber jacket and crush cap. Fortunately, it was dark or else Klink might have noticed Hogan reporting to roll call in black pants instead of his standard uniform brown ones. Not known for being very observant, Klink also didn't spot the slight bulge of his shoulder holster and gun under the bomber jacket, which was zipped up tight, not just against the cold, but to hide the black turtleneck underneath. After roll call had been completed, the Colonel had once again descended into the tunnels under Stalag 13 and changed attire for the second time. Back to being clad head-to-toe in black, he had made a mad dash through the woods to make up lost time and was now practically late for the meeting. The rendezvous was only a few miles from camp, but Hogan had planned on leaving a good half hour earlier than when he did.

Nearing the meeting place, Hogan slowed his movements to take a brief surveillance of the area. He could see the outline of the car through the trees. _Good, his contact hadn't left yet._ Nothing was moving, even the trees were still with no wind to disturb their silent sentry. Confident that there were no patrols lurking in the shadows, Hogan drew his gun and quietly approached the car, years of habit keeping him in the tree line to avoid detection from unwanted eyes.

He approached the passenger side of the car, and doing one more scan of the area, swiftly opened the door and climbed inside, startling its sole occupant who had been unaware of Hogan's stealthy approach.

The man quickly recovered and gruffly stated, "Fine weather we've been having…if you're a penguin."

"Penguins prefer it warmer I've been told." replied Hogan.

"Unlike pink flamingos in France," completed the man.

On hearing the completion of the proper recognition codes, Hogan returned his gun to its shoulder holster inside his jacket. "Little Jack Horner?" he asked, extending his hand.

"Ja, otherwise known as Herbert Kuntz," came the reply while the handshake was completed. "And have I finally met the distinguished Papa Bear?"

"Robert Hogan," he replied, settling back against the car seat, turned slightly towards the driver, relaxed yet alert. Hogan preferred not to use his rank when on an initial meet. It was a small precaution to delay his name being easily traced back to the POW camp. "I understand you stuck in your thumb and pulled out some top secret troop movements," he added with a slight smile as he looked out the window, rubbing away the condensation and keeping an eye out for any movement that might indicate passing patrols.

"Ja. I have maps indicating where several key Panzer divisions plan on reinforcing the front lines both in France and in Italy over the next week. I was assured you had a way to get them to London quickly and securely," Kuntz replied.

"That won't be a problem. I can get the gist of the information to them tonight by radio and have the maps there within 2 days. You bring them with you?"

A chuckle came from underneath the fedora. "I have everything you could possibly need right here…" responded Kuntz. "…_Colonel_."

At the use of his rank, Hogan's head snapped around to face the driver. The man raised his hand and removed his hat, placing it on the dash. The moonlight then revealed his harsh, rounded face under thinning hair, and reflected off of white teeth bared in a feral grin beneath a small trim moustache.

Surprise made him sluggish as Hogan realized the true identity of the man posing as his Underground contact. His hand automatically started to reach for his gun but stopped when the barrel of the other man's gun appeared at the end of his nose. Ice water replaced the blood in his veins as Hogan felt a chill as cold as death wrap around him. Fear and adrenaline made his heart trip-hammer at quadruple its normal rate and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Hochstetter" he breathed, his voice catching in his throat. Denial washed through him, unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. But the familiar snarl on the features of the man before him could not be refuted. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. At that moment, he knew that everything he had at Stalag 13 was forfeit…

"This time, Hogan, I know _exactly_ what you are doing here. Your gun…slowly take it out with two fingers and pass it over."

Hogan's mind was reeling, shock reducing his normally fast-thinking brain to mush. _How had this happened? The meet had been set up through proper channels. Nothing raised even a hair of suspicion that this was a trap. Hochstetter even had the correct recognition codes!_ Working mostly on auto-pilot, he slowly drew his gun out by the handle and passed it over to the Gestapo Major, who quickly pocketed it in his trench coat.

"Guess this is the final nail in your coffin, so to speak, eh Colonel? The proof that you are the most dangerous man in all Germany, along with your lackeys back at Stalag 13."

The mention of his men caused Hogan's mouth at least to kick into gear, while his brain slowly caught up. Determination coloured his voice.

"Spare them. You've got me dead to rights, so to speak. But they're innocent…"

"Bah! Don't patronize me Hogan! I am a whole lot smarter than you give me credit for. After all, I've been saying for years now that you have been responsible for the acts of sabotage in the area. You could never have carried off half those jobs alone. Those men of yours are about as innocent as I am French! But please, Colonel, beg me to spare them. I would love to hear you grovel…"

"That'll be the day, Hochstetter!" growled Hogan, anger at his impotence and stupidity growing rapidly. Shoving the mental berating to the back of his mind, Hogan tried to analyze the situation and figure out how he was going to get out of this one. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that he only had one choice: to kill Hochstetter here and escape back to camp. The next best option was to get Hochstetter to kill him before he could be tortured for information, but that still wouldn't prevent the Major from going after his men. Hopefully, they'd get some advanced notice and be able to flee to London before Hochstetter descended on the camp.

With the boldness of the desperate, Hogan launched himself across the seat at the Gestapo man, both hands grabbing at Hochstetter's gun hand to try to wrest the weapon away. His adversary was anticipating his move, however. The gun shifted up and went off, firing a hole into the car's roof and deafening the combatants in the vehicle. Hochstetter still had one hand free, which he used to deliver an upper cut to Hogan's cheek, snapping the Colonel's head back and making him see stars. Hogan quickly shifted his grip to capture both of Hochstetter's wrists, the men struggling futilely in the cramped space of the car's front seat.

Hogan was pressing the advantage, leaning up and over the smaller man, repeatedly smashing the gun hand against the seat back, and trying to get the Major to drop the weapon. Just as the gun fell to the seat, Hochstetter managed to get his leg up from under the steering wheel. He delivered a kick to Hogan's belly, forcing the Colonel back against the door, his head smacking against the passenger-side window. Hochstetter regained his grip on the gun once more and levelled it at Hogan. Hogan rubbed the back of his head with one hand and wrapped his other arm around his gut, panting from the struggle. Blood welled on his cheek where Hochstetter's ring had opened a scrape with his punch. Hogan glared with open hostility at the Major.

"Pointless, Hogan, totally pointless. I should shoot you for even trying, but I am feeling generous today. Must be the euphoria from being right all this time," Hochstetter gloated. "We both know that only one of us was destined to survive this war since we first met two years ago. It has always been a game of smoke and mirrors between us – what you have convinced others to accept as truth through deception and slight of hand versus what I knew to be fact. But the power has swung to my side, Hogan, and not even Klink or Burkhalter can save your miserable hide now." Hochstetter paused with a triumphant grin on his face for a moment. Then his expression changed, as if he suddenly remembered something distasteful but very important. Leaning slightly forward, he continued in a low voice, "I am prepared, however, to make you a deal…"

"Don't do me any favours, Hochstetter. Just shoot me and get it over with," Hogan replied, meeting the Major's eyes defiantly, suppressing a frantic battle for self-preservation waging inside him.

"Tsk, tsk. Where's the sport in that? Are you not the least bit interested in what I have to offer?" asked Hochstetter, leaning back with a smug grin on his face.

"Then spit it out. I'm tired of your games…"

"Bah! My deal is simple enough for even you to understand, Hogan: if you agree to come quietly with me and not fight this, I will spare the rest of your men even after your execution."

"That's just a little too easy, too tempting. What's the catch?" Hogan couldn't help the glint of hope that seeped into his eyes.

"No catch. Just a full signed confession that you are responsible for all the sabotage in the area, followed swiftly by your execution."

_It sounded too good to be true. Hochstetter was holding __all the cards, why would he give him this break? His gut was telling him that something else had to be going on, but he didn't have enough information to piece it together._

"How do I know I can trust you to uphold your end of the deal? You could do anything you want to me or my men and I'd be powerless to stop you. And what's to protect them after I'm gone?"

"You're powerless now, my dear Hogan, so I really don't see what the issue is," the Major purred. The urge to 'just shoot Hogan and get it over with' was becoming stronger, like the Lorelei on the Rhine calling sailors to their doom. The man was insufferable. Even given this easy out, which was turning Hochstetter's stomach to have to offer despite his orders, Hogan still would not submit without exploring every angle. He wanted to throttle the truth out of him, torture him into admitting every single act of sabotage he had ever committed and maybe some he hadn't, to squash Hogan's cocky spark of life and see it die in hopeless despair…

"My point exactly. What are you gaining here?" Hogan snapped back, eyes narrowing, trying to read Hochstetter's game in his face but the Major's expression was a closed mask.

"Your full co-operation. That means you come quietly to Gestapo Headquarters and confess to being Papa Bear in writing. Then I'll return you to Stalag 13 where you will stay in solitary confinement in the cooler while I arrange your execution. Finally, you will take your place willingly in front of a firing squad. You will have no interaction with your men and I will not involve them now or in the future. It is your word against mine that you provided the correct recognition codes that identified you as a contact with the Underground since there are no witnesses here. But then again, I need the guaranteed proof of my crazy theories about you that will set the record straight in Berlin. It's either that, or we can do things the hard way…"

"The hard way?"

"Ja. I arrest you and your men, followed by weeks of torture, eventual forced confessions, and executions all round." The bored expression on Hochstetter's face as he rhymed off Gestapo standard procedure became more animated as a new idea formed. "Then perhaps I'll need to shoot at least half the remaining men in camp because of the 'riot' your executions caused." He paused to gauge Hogan's reaction to his words. "At least that's the way my report shall read." Again, the predatory smile graced his lips. If he couldn't physically torture Hogan, he might as well cause him some mental and emotional anguish. "What's your decision?"

Hogan turned his head and peered out the window, looking for non-existent answers in the condensation once again gathering on the inside. Realistically, there was no decision to make. Hochstetter had him red-handed and yet the Major was willing to forgo persecuting his team if he agreed to co-operate with his own death sentence. He was practically forcing Hogan to take the deal, even threatening to kill half the camp if he didn't. Something was off here, but Hogan couldn't fathom what it could be. Still, if he could do anything at all to prevent harm from coming to his men, he'd protect them at whatever cost to himself. _Was Hochstetter bluffing? Should he take the chance with his men's lives that he wasn't?_ The silence in the car stretched as Hogan's mind flipped over the situation.

"This is a limited-time offer Hogan," baited Hochstetter after several minutes. "Last chance…"

Tension mounted. Finally Hogan's heart and mind settled on the only decision he could live with. Turning back towards the Major, Hogan stuck out his chin defiantly and met Hochstetter's eyes. Grinding out the word, Hogan sealed his fate:

"Deal."


	2. Chapter 2: April 1, 1945

April 1, 1945

The three trucks roared into the camp behind a VIP car, and began discharging swarms of Gestapo troops armed with machine guns. Hochstetter stormed out of the Kommandantur building, intercepting the trucks and directing his men to cover the prisoners who had fallen in for the special roll call he had ordered only moments before. Two additional men were sent to Klink's office.

Hochstetter signaled to the guard posted outside the cooler as he crossed the compound. By the time he reached the building, Colonel Hogan had appeared, flanked by two more guards and with his hands shackled behind his back. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight after being in solitary under guard overnight, he quickly took in the Gestapo army that had taken over Stalag 13 while he was in custody.

"Major," he greeted. "Still upholding our deal, I see," he added, his eyes roaming over to the group in formation outside Barracks 2. Although under the watchful eye of three Gestapo goons with machine guns, his men were all present and apparently safe for now.

"I have taken control here, Hogan," Hochstetter gloated. "The 'i's have been dotted and the 't's crossed and nothing will stop me now. Today is the day I take you down."

Hogan tried to dismiss Hochstetter's words as a little flutter of fear twisted in his gut, but outwardly remained impassive. With another sweeping look around the camp, Hogan could see a group of five Gestapo men who had emerged from the back of a truck and were now heading his way. Hogan realized they held special modified rifles, which meant that they were his firing squad. The icy queasiness floating in his stomach solidified as he recognized that he was facing his last few minutes on this earth and he was no closer to figuring out what Hochstetter was up to.

"What's the matter, Hogan?" said Hochstetter as he followed Hogan's gaze focused on the squad. "Cat got your tongue? No quick-witted repartee to humour us in your final moments?" Hochstetter baited the Allied Colonel.

"Well now that you mention it, Hochstetter, I was wondering if the Easter bunny had been good to you this morning. Happy Easter, by the way. I don't suppose we could go to church?"

Red flush slowly crept up Hochstetter's neck at Hogan's words. "How about I send you to meet your maker instead? Having second thoughts, Hogan?"

"Not in the least. I just thought an egg hunt would be a lot more fun," replied the Colonel, giving Hochstetter one of his most irritating smiles.

"Perhaps for you, but not for me," growled the Major, getting himself under control. _Oh how that American could get under his skin!_

"Now if I recall correctly, I believe that your little home-away-from-home was Barracke 2, _ja_?" Hochstetter mused. "Seems only fitting for that to be where you meet your end too. From there, everyone in camp will have a front row seat to my triumph. Guards!" he raised his voice to carry across the compound, "Clear those men away from the barracks!" Turning to the men who still held Hogan tightly by the arms, he added, "Release him. He has nowhere to run."

Jumping to do the Major's orders, the guards pushed against the residents of Barracks 2, shoving them across the compound, where they fell in again. Meanwhile, the men flanking Hogan dropped their hold and stepped back as the 5 riflemen moved into position in front of the wooden shack.

The sounds of a scuffle caused Hogan's head to snap around as his attention was diverted over to the Kommandant's office. Klink and Schultz were being hustled out onto the porch. He could see that Klink was livid; his face red and set in a scowl while he clutched and re-clutched his riding crop. His foot stomping on the porch in indignation had no affect on Hochstetter's men. At seeing him and Schultz being held back by the Gestapo guns too, Hogan knew there would be no miracle salvation from there. But then again, he was not expecting to survive this. He had made his deal with the devil and it was time to pay his dues.

Hogan looked over to the building where he had lived for the last three and a half years. Brief flashes of memories swirled through his mind, of missions and camaraderie, tense moments awaiting discovery, planning sessions and celebrations.

Hogan's gaze flitted over to his men. Being in the isolation cell of the cooler under constant Gestapo guard since his ill-fated meeting in the woods, Hogan had been unable to sneak into the tunnel system under the camp. He hadn't had one last visit with his team; to explain what was going to happen, explain how much closer their contribution had brought them to the end of the war, to relay his pride in them and how much this command and their support had meant to him. Hogan's eyes touched Newkirk's across the compound. Hogan figured of all his team to cause an incident, it would be the hothead Cockney man so he gave a slight shake of his head _'Don't fight this. Too many will die'._ Hogan caught the slight nod the corporal gave in response to the silent order and, did he imagine a…_wink_? In fact, on closer inspection all of his men seemed as relaxed as if this was a normal roll call for Klink and Schultz, despite the proceedings that were happening. _What was going on? First Hochstetter's deal, now the reactions of his men… LeBeau's not being skittish over the possible sight of blood. Even Carter's barely containing the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. Probably ate all his Red Cross chocolate for Easter breakfast._ Hogan could tell that their feelings ran more towards anticipation than nerves. It was all too surreal to be believed.

Hogan's musings were interrupted by the Gestapo Major at his elbow. "Time to take your place Colonel. You wouldn't want to renege on our deal, would you?" The feral grin was back as Hochstetter rubbed his hands together in anticipation, whether for the execution or the thought of what would happen if he backed out, Hogan wasn't sure.

Squaring his shoulders, which was hard to do in handcuffs, Hogan prepared himself to carry out the last requirement in Hochstetter's deal. With head held high, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, United States Air Corps, proudly marched forward and willingly took his place in front of the Gestapo firing squad.

Immediately in front of him were the 5 riflemen. Slightly beyond to his left, ranks of prisoners stood quietly in file. Movement in his peripheral vision caused Hogan to glance to his right. Behind the squad, in the open area in front of the main gate, the window of the VIP car rolled down, revealing a shadowy figure that looked vaguely familiar intently watching the proceedings. Hochstetter strutted up to Hogan, black cloth that he had pulled from his uniform pocket dangling from his right hand.

"Any last words Hogan?" he asked, reveling in the fact that he had finally beaten the American. He was in the spot-light, everything was going according to plan and he was basking in the adrenaline rush of control.

Hogan paused for a moment and looked over at the group from Barracks 2. "What about my men?" he stressed, looking for assurances.

"I could say that I am a man of honour – bound to my word in our agreement but you wouldn't believe it. In reality, they never were of any consequence, just the dregs of their soon-to-be-defeated armed services. They will continue their miserable existence here, untouched by the Gestapo." A wave of relief washed over the Colonel as he released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"And our mystery guest?" Hogan asked, calmly indicating the VIP car with a rise of his chin.

"Is of no concern to you… but as a courtesy to a dying man, I'll tell you that he is one of my superiors and very interested to see justice carried out."

Hochstetter's words ignited a spark of anger in Hogan. Rounding on the small German, Hogan leaned over to meet the Gestapo agent nose to nose. "The Gestapo's form of justice is laughable. Know this Hochstetter," he growled, "This isn't the end of it. I only confessed to being Papa Bear to spare the lives of my men. Yes, I managed to have a minor role in the local resistance but the real Papa Bear will prove you wrong and continue to sabotage the area even after I'm gone Major, and I'll haunt you 'til the end of your days."

Dismissing the antagonizing Kraut from his mind, Hogan pulled himself upright and turned to face his men. He pitched his voice to carry across the compound. "Men, the war won't last much longer. The Nazis are pulling back and the Allies are gaining ground each day. While I regret that I won't be here when our tanks come through the gate, it was an honour serving with you. I am sure the spirit of Stalag 13 will continue after I'm gone. Take care of yourselves and each other…"

"Bah! Enough of this blathering Hogan," snarled Hochstetter, once more advancing with the black cloth. "We do this now" and he stretched up to cover the American Colonel's eyes.

Hogan leaned back out of reach. "No blindfold, Major. I prefer to meet my end with my eyes wide open."

"As you wish" replied Hochstetter as he retreated to the end of the firing squad line. Retrieving a sheet of paper from his breast pocket inside his uniform, Hochstetter began to read in a loud voice.

"Colonel Robert E. Hogan, United States Army Air Corps, having willingly signed a confession to spying against the Third Reich and committing various acts of sabotage against our glorious nation, is hereby identified as an enemy of the German people and sentenced to death. Execution is to be carried out by firing squad immediately. Dated this first day of April, nineteen hundred and forty-five." Finishing with a flourish, Hochstetter replaced the paper in his tunic.

"Firing squad, ach-tung!" snapped Hochstetter.

Suddenly, Hogan's heart started thumping wildly in his chest. Finally, the realization that this was the end was sinking in and his body was catching up with the 'fight or flight' response. The fact that Hochstetter was going to win did not sit well in his gut but he was loath to let Hochstetter see that. Instead, he harnessed his anger and directed it at the Gestapo officer. Hogan glared at the Major with a look that could have melted cold steel. Extreme satisfaction was felt when Hochstetter flinched and visibly gulped. The Major's voiced cracked as he barked the next command.

"Ready!"

Hogan's gaze cooled as he took a last glance at the two on the porch. Klink stilled and solemnly met his gaze, giving a sharp nod. It would have been a salute if it had not been for the Gestapo's machine guns in his back, but it would have been treason for him to give any bigger acknowledgement to his Senior POW Officer. The message of respect and regret was passed regardless. Schultz was varying between standing at attention and fidgeting, screwing his eyes shut so he wouldn't see what was about to happen.

"Aim!"

Last, Hogan's eyes softened and moved to his team who snapped to attention with all the other prisoners and saluted their commanding officer, despite the machine guns pointed at them. Hogan prayed that Hochstetter would be true to his word and that they all would be safe until the end of the war. Hogan turned his head to face the guns of the firing squad.

"Fire!"

The rapport of the weapons fire echoed around camp. Not one bullet missed its mark. Hogan gasped as he felt the stings impact his chest through his bomber jacket. _Strange, I thought it would hurt more, like when I was clipped in the shoulder when my plane was shot down._ A strange aroma wafted over him. Weakness suddenly assaulted him and Hogan fell back against the side of the barracks as his head spun. He tried to fight it, still unwilling to give Hochstetter the victory. He looked down to see his chest bathed in crimson and knew he wouldn't be much longer in this world. Then his legs gave out and he found himself sliding down the side of the barracks, collapsing onto his knees in the dust of the compound. His vision grayed and darkness closed in around the edges of his vision as he continued to crumple, his shoulder giving up a puff of dust as he fell to the side and hit the dirt, unable to catch himself with the handcuffs still binding his arms behind him. _Mom, Dad, I love you. I'm sorry…_ and with that last thought, Colonel Robert Hogan's eyes closed as he surrendered to the blackness of oblivion.

It was over. Hochstetter had won.

* * *

The echo of gun fire hung in the air. Brief puffs of smoke drifted in the air from the ends of the rifles. No one moved, barely breathed, as they watched Hogan give way to the onslaught of German bullets. Silence reigned as the Colonel's eyes slid shut, succumbing to the call of death. Time stood still.

The snap of the firing squad returning to attention broke the unearthly silence. The arms of the team from Barracks 2 and the rest of the camp prisoners came down in a crisp salute. The door to the VIP car opened. Hochstetter dismissed his squad, drew his sidearm and approached the motionless body of the American Colonel. He leveled his gun at Hogan's head, releasing the safety, when the crunch of gravel in the compound alerted him to someone approaching.

"What are you doing?" the commanding tone asked.

"Finishing the job, per regulations, _Oberst_. You know it is standard procedure to ensure the death by a headshot," replied the Major, taking aim with an air of malicious vindication. He had been dreaming about fulfilling this duty for years, had not slept last night because of anticipation, and was almost salivating with the pleasure and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Oh the joy and elation that had rushed through his being as he'd watched Hogan succumb to his bullets.

"_Nein_," came the curt reply as an arm reached out to forcibly lower the Major's weapon.

Denied his ultimate revenge against the man who had caused him so much humiliation in the past, Hochstetter exploded with a loud "No!" as his head shot up to meet the eyes of the man who stopped him.

Colonel Norbert was not a man to be trifled with. At 6'4", he towered over Hochstetter as if the Major was a child. Fit, broad-shouldered, with hard steel blue eyes, and a feathering of grey at his dark brown temples, he stood straight with an aristocratic air. His eyes had a dangerous glint as he stared down the man in front of him.

"He's dead. He can't do any more damage to your reputation. You have your signed confession for proof. Round up your men – we're through here. That's an order, _Oberstleutnant_," came the terse reply. Hochstetter's eyes widened at the address that acknowledged his long-sought-after promotion. "Unless you would prefer _Feldwebel_?"

Turning, Norbert pointed to Carter, LeBeau, Newkirk, and the others from Barracks 2 who were still standing in formation under guard. "You prisoners! Clean up this garbage at once!" he demanded, kicking the body at his feet with his highly-polished jack-boots, then calmly strode to his car and got back in.

Suddenly, it was like someone had uncorked a shaken bottle of champagne. Chaos erupted as people were galvanized into action. Hochstetter took one last look at Hogan, and put away his revenge and his gun, satisfaction in his nemesis' defeat and new promotion outweighing his displeasure of not personally finishing the job as he had dreamed. He bent over and removed the handcuffs that had restrained his prisoner, gave him one last kick for spite, and began issuing orders for his troops to board the trucks they had arrived in before climbing into his own staff car and driving off. With Hochstetter's retreat, Newkirk and the remaining heroes then surged forward to claim the body of their fallen leader.

Klink and Schultz were left in shock on the porch as their guards withdrew. Then Klink, as his brain finally kicked in that the execution of his well-admired Senior POW Officer might incite a riot once the Gestapo left, started issuing orders to Schultz and the Luftwaffe guards to confine all prisoners to barracks.

Within minutes, the prisoners were confined, the Gestapo had loaded and pulled out, and the regular guard was doubled. Klink stood on the porch and surveyed the empty compound of Stalag 13, satisfied that order would be maintained and no escapes would happen, not allowing himself to acknowledge the feelings growing inside over the horror he had just witnessed. Against his will, he found his eyes drawn to the only evidence left that anything had occurred – the small pool of red by the wall of Barracks 2 that marked the end of a very brave man. A man who might have been considered a comrade or colleague, perhaps even a friend, if it wasn't treason to think so. Suddenly the bile that had been building in his stomach threatened to erupt from his gut. Swallowing continuously, Klink quickly pivoted on his heel and rushed inside, barely making it to the sanctuary of his office washroom in time.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: I really had a hard time promoting Hochstetter. Although the show calls him Major (the American and Luftwaffe equivalent), he really should have been a Sturmbannführer. As such, the next rank up would be Obersturmbannführer, the rank equivalent to Lieutenant Colonel. I believe the show's writers gave the German soldiers American ranks so that the audience would understand who outranked who without constantly having to explain the German heirarchy for each branch of the service (something I personally find extremely confusing). I've read many fan fics that have used the Luftwaffe ranks for Colonel Klink (Oberst) and Sergeant Schultz (Oberfeldwebel). In the end I went with Oberstleutnant, the Luftwaffe rank of Lieutenant Colonel because I think the reader will easily connect with the translation.

And for the record, April 1, 1945 really was Easter Sunday.


	3. Chapter 3: April 1, part 2

April 1, 1945

"Boy, he's heavier than he looks. Are all officers this heavy?"

"Blimey, a right dead-weight he is."

"Pierre, how could you crack a joke like that at a time like this?"

"Come on guys! We gotta get him onto his bunk. Try not to drop him or bang him around too much."

After Norbert gave the word in the compound, the guys had all surged forward to retrieve their fallen commander. Carter had hold of Hogan under his arms and Newkirk hefted his legs as they struggled to get the downed man away from Hochstetter and his goons. Quickly, they navigated into the barracks, around the stove, into Hogan's office and placed him on his bunk. LeBeau had led, opening the doors and clearing the way, while Baker trailed behind, having stopped to retrieve the Colonel's crush cap from the dirt where it had fallen after Hogan's collapse.

Finally having settled the Colonel on the lower berth, the men stepped back and a sombre silence descended as they looked at the man who had led them through so many missions.

"He's too still. He shouldn't be that still. Are you sure that he's not… I mean, someone checked, right? He doesn't look like he's breathing. He is breathing? He's not… you know… um, right?" Carter stumbled over the words as his cap ended up being repeatedly twisted in his hands in evidence of his anxiousness.

"_Le Colonel_ is fine, Carter. He's supposed to look dead. That was the whole point, _oui_? To fool Hochstetter and _les Boches_. He needs the freedom to leave camp and be above suspicion. Besides, I checked. Slow, shallow pulse but it's there."

"We should clean him up. He'll have our hides if his precious bomber jacket is ruined by all that red dye. Although, I guess he won't have much of a chance to wear it in the near future. Should we 'bury' him in it?" At Carter's prompt, LeBeau grabbed a fraying towel from Hogan's kit and started to clean up the front of his jacket.

"We can't bury him – he's still alive!" exclaimed Baker, hanging Hogan's cap in its regular spot – the post at the foot of the bunk.

"Don't be daft," said Newkirk as he leaned against the closed door. "If we don't have a service and burial, Klink is going to get mighty suspicious. Can't have the body of the Senior POW disappearin' inta thin air after such a public display. The whole camp's gonna hafta go through mourning, not that it'll be hard with 'im leavin' and all. Moral'll be at an all time low. We might even have to try escapin' cuz we're all so depressed…" he expounded with a flourish. Suddenly Newkirk stopped and gave LeBeau the critical eye. "Hey, Louie, how come you ain't fainting from the blood?"

"I'd make a pretty lousy chef if I fainted over food colouring and corn starch, don't you think?" retorted LeBeau. "He's still going to be out for a couple of hours from the chloroform in the gun pellet mix. Now that it's been wiped away, the effects will start to wear off. We'd better start to make some funeral arrangements. Who knows when Klink's going to come around expecting some answers?" LeBeau stood up and turned to leave the room. He looked back at the man on the bunk, concern etching his features. "Someone should stay with him just in case…"

"I'll stay," volunteered Baker. "Odds are good he won't wake up for a while so I'll take the first hour or so. One of you guys should be with him when he does wake up. It's too bad we weren't able to fill him in on the plans ahead of time. He's going to be kind of confused as to why he's not dead."

"Confused and probably angry, but with Hochstetter's guards inside the cooler instead of Schultzie, and _le_ _Colonel_ being in the isolation cell with no tunnel access, there was no way to let him know that Norbert was pulling all the strings on the setup. I swear that man deliberately left it too late to let Colonel Hogan what was going to happen at his meeting. There was no way Norbert was expecting _le Colonel_ to still be here 10 minutes before the meet. If I ever get my hands on that two-timing Kraut…" LeBeau's fist shook as his anger increased. "I didn't like what he did to Colonel Hogan last time and I don't like it this time either!" Throwing the towel on the floor in a fit of temper, LeBeau wheeled towards the door. Newkirk jumped out of the way and quickly opened it for the incensed Frenchman as he marched out of the office spewing a string of French under his breath.

Taking one last look at the man on the bunk, Newkirk and Carter nodded to Baker and slowly followed LeBeau out of Hogan's quarters to congregate around the table in the common room. There was a funeral to plan.

* * *

Across the compound in the Kommandantur building, Klink had finally exited his bathroom and was fortifying himself with several quick glasses of schnapps. Although perhaps not the best thing to be doing on an upset and now-empty stomach, he revelled in the burn going down his throat made raw from stomach acid previously coming up.

Finally feeling the strength returning to knees that had turned to jelly, he set his sights on the desk. He thought to lose himself in the numbness of the ever-increasing backlog of paperwork, when he realized his first duty should be to complete the forms and reports in regards to… _the_ _incident_, his mind instantly supplied, still skittering around the harsh truth. That was where his duty to the Fatherland lay; history would record him as a mere paper pusher if it noted him at all. Forms for the Luftwaffe, reports to the Red Cross, requisitions, transfers, audits, duplicate, triplicate, never-ending – ugh! In a rare show of anger, Klink swept all the forms off his desk and watched dispassionately as they fluttered to the floor. He sighed deeply, bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Unwilling to face the task yet, things were far too fresh, too raw to compose a thorough but detached account for Berlin, he found himself drawn to the window overlooking the compound. From there, he could see Barracke 2, and wondered what was happening inside.

Klink knew the prisoners would demand a proper funeral and briefly wondered why the Senior POW Officer hadn't been by to ask for one as yet. He was expecting Hogan to burst through his office door any minute now. He turned to the door with a smile of anticipation. Ah-ah-ahh! He wouldn't be caught off-guard this time! The smile faltered after a minute as the door didn't open and reality hit him. Hogan wouldn't be demanding anything from him ever again; wouldn't be barging in at the most inconvenient times, requesting the silliest of things, interrupting his work, and departing with that sloppy mockery of a salute. A pang of regret and sorrow caused the smile to further collapse, and a scowl in turn marred Klink's face. He was at loose ends; he didn't know what to do. Klink paced for a bit in front of his desk, a feeble attempt to burn some nervous energy. He came up short at the schnapps bottle and considered another round of courage. _No_, he thought, _the answers don't lie in there_ and the last couple of glasses were making him queasy again. He needed something to focus on, to keep his mind occupied on something inane. Snapping his fingers with sudden inspiration, he knew what he needed to do – he needed to appoint a new SPO! He flew around behind the desk, ignoring the mess on the floor, and grabbed a pencil and pad of paper from the drawer.

Scurrying over to the files, Klink started sifting through the camp roster. All of the prisoners were NCOs now that Hogan was gone and the majority were Privates and Corporals. Discarding everyone who wasn't at least a Sergeant, Klink started to narrow his list. Why couldn't every country use the same ranks? It was incredibly confusing trying to compare the RAF ones with the US Army Air Corps, plus the French, Canadian, and other Allied Air Forces that were in his camp.

Finally, he worked his list down to 3 remaining prisoners that were all of roughly equal rank for the same length of time. It should come down to who held the highest rank for the longest time but one name stood out from the others. That prisoner had been here longer than anyone else on the list. He was essentially the highest ranking prisoner but to argue a couple of months, and the other Sergeant who had been promoted a short time earlier had only been in camp a few of weeks. For once, it was fairly easy for him to make up his mind.

Putting down his pencil, Klink looked at the clock expecting a few hours to have passed, but was sorely disappointed. The whole exercise had taken him 40 minutes. Klink sighed in exasperation. He returned to his desk and again found himself loathe to get back to work. He looked down at the scattered pages on the floor and then out the window once more.

Avoidance. The word almost physically smacked him between the eyes. Klink suddenly grasped the reason why he couldn't settle himself was sheer avoidance. Avoidance of the prisoners, avoidance of his duty, avoidance of his feelings, and most of all, avoidance of facing the remains of a man he failed to protect. It certainly could not be anything remotely close to grief.

Grabbing his coat and hat off the hook, Klink rushed from his office and headed to Barracke 2 to pay his last respects.

* * *

The conversation around the common room table died awkwardly. Planning the funeral was not going well. Everyone had their own ideas on how it should go and no one really had their heart in the necessary-for-appearances-only task. Some thought it should be a grand affair, a tribute to the Colonel's command, representing all the Allied services in camp. Others felt more of a straight-forward, bare-bones, US military service was more appropriate since the Colonel wasn't really dead. No one stepped up and took charge. The silence stretched for a moment and then quietly Carter spoke. "Someone's going to have to ask Klink about a coffin and where to bury it…"

"_Oui_, we can't have him buried in a mass grave. We need the coffin to hide the fact that there's no body to bury."

"Well, me guess is that the askin' would fall to the new Senior POW officer."

"Oh, right. Guess we do need a new one now that Colonel Hogan's not going to be here. Who's that gonna be then?" Carter looked at them expectantly.

"Whoever Klink appoints…"

"Speak o' the devil," muttered Newkirk as the barrack door opened and the Kommandant rushed through. The men looked at one another, wondering where Schultz or another guard was, as Klink had never entered the barracks alone before. Klink paused a moment to take in the group at the table before heading to the closed door of Hogan's quarters without a word. The men scrambled to beat Klink to the door, blocking his way.

"Just where do you think you're going, Kommandant?" demanded Newkirk in a loud enough voice that Baker would be able to hear from inside the small side room.

"Not that I have to explain myself to you, _Corporal_, but I've come to pay my respects. Now move aside before I have to call a guard. I don't think anyone wants a stay in the cooler after today."

Reluctantly, the guys shuffled out of the way and moved back to the table. A few moments later, Baker appeared and the office door shut quietly behind him. He joined the others at the table, whispering softly.

"Thanks for the heads-up. I think the Colonel might have been starting to come around. He was starting to twitch. When you announced Klink at the door, I grabbed the towel and waved the fumes under his nose again and he seemed to settle. Hopefully he won't stir while Klink's visiting."

With that news, all any of them could do was hold their breath and wait.

* * *

Klink closed the door behind the black man as he left. _What was he doing?_ It seemed like this was the answer he needed when he was across the compound; but now that he was here, he wasn't so sure. His gaze slowly took in everything as he inspected every nook and cranny of the small quarters, carefully avoiding the bunk and its contents for now. The upright locker with the door closed; the tiny desk that held a few sheets of writing paper, a can of pencils, a lamp, and a coffee pot; the yellowing pin up girls haphazardly stuck to the walls; the stool beside the small foot locker under the window; the stains on the ceiling and walls where water had leaked over the years. It wasn't much to look at. In fact it was cramped, spartan, and pitiful. The meagre trappings felt oppressive. In all of his visits to this office while Hogan was alive, Klink had never bothered to truly look at his surroundings. After all, Hogan was the enemy and deserved no special treatment. How had Hogan done it? Lived three years here? The strength of the spirit of the man struck Klink. He had to admit to himself that he couldn't have survived so long being cut off from the luxuries of the world, few as they may be for a soldier during war, despite rank having its privileges.

Finally, Klink's eyes alit on the bottom bunk and the bulk it held. A vaguely human shape was covered head to foot by a rough, thread-bare woollen blanket with a US Army Air Corps crush cap lying on the chest. Without conscious thought, Klink reached over and folded the coverlet away from the body's face, revealing the pale visage and dark locks of Colonel Robert Hogan.

Hogan's stillness bothered Klink. Klink didn't remember the Allied Colonel ever not being in motion. When he came to Klink's office to request to more fire wood or some such triviality, Hogan's hands would twitch against the cap in his hands or he'd pace in front of the desk and sneak cigars or schnapps. At roll call, he would rock on the balls of his feet. Even sitting in front of the barracks, Hogan's leg would bounce or his fingers would thrum out a tempo against his crossed arms as he leaned against the wall 'relaxing'. Klink wondered if hooking his thumbs in his jacket pockets was Hogan's attempt to control his flighty hands.

Klink's thoughts turned back to Hogan's first appearance in the camp. Klink himself had only been here for a month and a half before the large covered truck rolled into the compound…

_A Luftwaffe guard had jumped down and indicated with his rifle for the prisoner to get out of the truck. Apparently too slow in complying, the guard behind had practically pushed the prisoner out from behind causing him to land less than gracefully. Staggering to keep his balance, he quickly regained his footing and took in his bleak surroundings. The guards ushered him over to the steps of the Kommandantur, where Klink was waiting on the porch._

"_Hogan, Robert E.; Colonel, United States Army Air Corps; 0876707" Hogan had to tip his head back to meet the eyes of the man at the top of the stairs._

_Klink took in the appearance of the soldier before him. He was dirty and scruffy, with a bruise blossoming on his right cheek. The look on the man's face gave nothing away, but the glint in his eye was both defiant and defeated._

"_Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant, Luftstalag 13. Bring him."_

The similarities to the events 2 days ago struck Klink as ironic.

_At 2200 hours, he had held a surprise roll call. All prisoners were present, __including Colonel Hogan. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and Klink had retired to bed with his cup of hot cocoa. At 0330, Klink was being awoken by the guard at the front gate shack on the telephone, informing him that the Gestapo had arrived with a prisoner in transport. _

_The first__ Gestapo guard had jumped down and indicated with his rifle for the prisoner to get out of the truck. Too slow in complying for the second guard's liking, the handcuffed prisoner was pushed out of the truck from behind, causing him to land awkwardly and nearly crash to his knees. Staggering to keep his balance, he quickly regained his footing as the guards flanked him and hauled him upright. The prisoner looked towards the Kommandantur, where Klink was waiting on the porch._

_Shock __rippled through Klink as he recognized Colonel Hogan. He took in the appearance of the man before him. Hogan was dressed entirely in black, with a small scrape on his left cheek. The look on the Colonel's face was a blank mask, but the glint in his eye was again defiant and defeated._

_Major Hochstetter climbed out from the front of the vehicle and strode over to the group at the rear of the truck. "Take him to the cooler."_

"_Major Hochstetter, I demand an explanation! What are you doing with my Senior POW Officer?" Klink had stormed down the porch steps to confront the Gestapo officer near the truck._

"_It's very simple Klink," Hochstetter sneered, "I caught your man outside the wire. He's confessed to being a spy and will be executed tomorrow. Until that time, he will remain in your cooler under constant Gestapo guard. My men have orders to shoot anyone approaching the cooler who is not accompanied by me personally. I will not have him escape this time!" And with that, he whirled away from Klink and marched after his prisoner into the building._

"_He confessed?" Klink whispered to himself in disbelief and looked up to see the back of Colonel Hogan as he disappeared through the door of the cooler._

It was a strange relationship that he had with his Senior Prisoner of War Officer. Klink never thought that Hogan would be the first one he would run to if he was ever in trouble with his own brass. And he was sure it was Hogan who kept the men from attempting to escape, despite the security measures Klink put in place. They were mediocre at best, Klink silently admitted to himself, but the cutbacks from above had left him with few choices. Both surrounded by nothing but NCOs, they had managed to relax from the rigors of being 'head man' by playing chess together. It even turned into a game within a game, with Klink lightly interrogating Hogan each time but getting no where. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was expected.

Klink sighed. He had hoped that Hogan would make it home at the end of the war. A stupid thing, the war. Most Germans just wanted to have pride in their country again, to rise above the bottom of the barrel position they found themselves in after WWI. To be equal again on the world stage. But then they had followed a mad man. Rather funny to see all the Reichmarschalls bowing and scraping to a mere Corporal.

Klink mentally shook himself out of his reverie. He had spent too much time here as it was, he didn't need to spend it wool-gathering. Bending down on one knee, Klink laid a hand on Hogan's shoulder and bowed his head, muttering an old German prayer for the fallen learned in WWI. Rising, he simply said, "Rest now Hogan, you've earned it. I'm sorry things turned out as they did. And Thank You. It was an honour". Coming to attention, Klink clicked his heels and offered a crisp salute, not a 'Heil Hitler' but a true salute, to the body on the bunk, replaced the blanket over Hogan's face, then turned and left the room. In closing the office door, he also felt some closure in his heart.

* * *

The sound of Klink emerging from the Colonel's office caused the team to pause their discussion. Stepping out of Hogan's quarters, Klink headed towards the barrack door but stopped beside the barrel stove. Looking at the men, he said, "Thank you for allowing me to see him. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop Hochstetter this time…" His voice drifted off. He sounded pathetic even to his own ears. _Never show weakness to the men, especially the enemy!_

Squaring his shoulders, Klink continued in a stronger voice, "The funeral will be at 1100 hours tomorrow. I will see to it that a coffin is brought by later today. I think it is appropriate for Colonel Hogan to be buried outside the fence where he can finally be free. A site will be prepared by the trees at the side of the road to the west of the front gate. The service will be conducted inside camp. All prisoners will remain inside the camp during the service. The coffin can be carried to its final resting place by 6 prisoner pall bearers, each of whom will be under armed guard. These men will return inside the camp as soon as their duties are completed. There will be no escape attempts and no riots. The guards will have orders to shoot to kill. Is that perfectly clear?"

After a few hesitant nods, the German Colonel carried on. "One other item of camp business: the need of a new Senior POW Officer. Due to no other service men of officer ranking being incarcerated here, the SPO will be from the unlisted ranks until such time as another officer is secured in this camp. As of right now, your new SPO will be Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter. Please ensure all requests come through him, as they did previously through Colonel Hogan. The announcement will be made to the camp in general at the next roll call." And with that revelation, Klink turned and strode out of the barracks.

Newkirk and LeBeau look at each other and back at Carter, whose mouth was dropped open in shock. As one, the two corporals rose and came to attention.

"Technical Sergeant Carter, sir!" they said in unison, saluting.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Carter shook his head and waved his hands in denial. "Hold on a second there fellas. I'm no leader…"

"But you are one the highest ranking prisoners. _And_ you've been here almost the longest of anyone else in camp," stated LeBeau, as the pair retook their seats.

"But Newkirk's always been second-in-command, especially since Kinch left!" Carter's voice was taking on a pleading, whiny tone.

"_I_ am a mere Corporal, sir!" preened Newkirk, happy that it wasn't him appointed to the new position.

"Knock it off! That ain't funny! I won't have you guys suddenly going around 'sir'-ing me all the time." Carter was becoming desperate. _He couldn't replace Colonel Hogan! He couldn't! Hogan was his idol, his hero, his mentor, taking him under his wing and making a place for him on the team. The Colonel was brilliant, a fast thinker and a smooth-talker, a ladies man, a manipulator, an inspiration, a leader. He wasn't any of those things. There was no way he could replace the Colonel. Couldn't the guys see that?_

"Hey, Klink's appointed you," said Baker, emphasizing his point with his finger. "There's nothing you can do about it. You must have gotten your rank for some reason. They don't give out stripes for attendance you know! Besides, you've been in command situations before. You make a pretty mean General or even Hitler himself."

"It's not the same thing guys. You know how good the Colonel was at manipulating Klink. He very nearly always got what we needed, whether it was hot showers or a hot air balloon. How am I going to live up to that?"

Silence reigned as the guys looked at each other. Carter's lack of confidence was obvious to all of them. Finally, Newkirk spoke up. "Well, how 'ave you managed to portray all them German officers and the like? It's just a role, Carter. Just act out another character but for our side this time. You've stood up to Klink in German uniform when you coulda been shot for it! It might take a right bit o' gettin' use to, but SPO's still just another part to play. Colonel 'ogan's a real tough act to follow, sure, but 'e's also a strong personality to copy. You'll see. We'll even help you out a little. It'll be easy, mate."

"Oh, sure!" Carter groaned glumly as he buried his head in his arms on the table. "Easy as pie…"

* * *

A/N – So for clarification, the specialized rifles the firing squad used were paintball guns, having a pellet mix of red food colouring, corn starch, and chloroform. Paintball guns were commonly used in the 1950s to mark trees by foresters and livestock by farmers, so not too much of a fictional stretch to have prototypes as early as 1945. Norbert must have untold resources at his fingertips. Paintball as a game was first played in 1976 but didn't become widely popular until 1981.

And I really need to get out of Klink's head. It's a scary place right now. I hope he isn't too out of character.


	4. Chapter 4: April 1, part 3

A/N: Warning: Brief religious references and a little swearing by our dear Colonel. Thanks everyone for your continued reviews.

* * *

April 1, 1945

It was hot, stuffy. And his nose itched. Awareness came slowly, through wads of cotton. His hand spasmed and brought the sensation of roughness that was vaguely familiar. There was an ache in his chest, like something had hit him hard in the sternum. His eyelids twitched, not quite ready to open yet and a soft moan escaped his dry lips.

Thoughts began to coalesce and feelings of anger, hatred, disappointment, and failure flitted though his mind. His sluggish mind tried to remember what had happened and grasped a name – _Hochstetter!_ Suddenly, it all came flooding back – the meet in the woods gone bad, the trip to Gestapo headquarters and then back to Stalag 13, the stay in the cooler, the waiting, and most importantly, the firing squad.

_He was dead!_

The shock of that thought brought his eyelids open with a snap. Everything was dark and mottled, with a few pinpricks of light. Bringing his hand up to scratch his nose caused the darkness to shift enough to realize there was something covering his head. _Should my nose itch if I'm dead?_ Hogan shook off the amusing question as he reached to shift the layer blocking his view.

He was not prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. Looking straight up, he recognized the boards that made up the underside of the top bunk of his bed at Stalag 13. Rising up on his elbows, a wave of dizziness quickly passed and Hogan discovered the layer that had shrouded his head was his camp-issue blanket. Resting on his stomach was his crush cap, a silent sentinel to his passing.

_Dear Lord!_ Hogan's brain rebelled at what his eyes were seeing._ I'm in hell?_ _Doomed for all eternity to reside in Stalag 13?_ _Please, God, this couldn't be right._ Hogan's eyes squeezed shut, hoping that when he opened them again, he'd be surrounded by angels with white feathered wings and golden halos, floating by on fluffy clouds. Sure he'd done things in his life he wasn't proud of. He knew he'd killed perhaps hundreds between his bombing runs and sabotage efforts. But he'd always tried to live by the Good Book, and had hoped God forgave soldiers for doing what was necessary for a just cause. He had believed heaven was in his future. Daring to open his eyes, he was disappointed to see no change in his situation.

Sitting up on the bed, the wool cover fell to his waist. Hogan noted the red stain on the front of his bomber jacket where he was shot and was thankful not to see a gaping hole in his chest. Not dwelling on the maudlin, Hogan moved the blanket and seated his cap on the back of his head. Swinging his legs over the side, he rose to look around. His ears could detect no sound, so he headed for his office door. Cautiously opening the barrier, he peeked around the jam and into the common room. It was completely empty.

Walking over to the stove, he passed the neatly made beds and wondered if anyone else lived in his bizarre version of the afterlife. At least there was coffee. Grabbing a cup, he poured himself a half and took a sip to steady himself. _Tastes just like LeBeau's,_ he thought. _Thank God it doesn't taste like Newkirk's – that would be extreme even for purgatory!_

He was just getting use to the idea of being here by himself when the barrack door banged open. Carter was in the lead, obviously being the victim to some good-natured teasing by Newkirk, with LeBeau and Baker immediately behind also participating.

The crash of Hogan's coffee cup falling from his suddenly-numb fingers and smashing on the floor, brought the quartet up short half way through the door. Jaw's dropped on both sides of the room as the two groups stared at each other.

_No!_ Hogan thought. _Hochstetter promised they'd be safe! _Bitter disappointment rolled through the Colonel at the thought of bringing down his entire team with the fiasco that was the meeting with the Gestapo Major. He knew he should have never trusted Hochstetter, but truly had not much choice in the matter. His stomach started to churn as the bile rose in his throat, sick at the idea of causing the deaths of his men. He barely had time to start with the self-recriminations when Newkirk recovered from his surprise.

"Well now, lookee who woke up!" he said, rocking back on his heels, smiling widely.

"Woke up?" echoed Hogan, not comprehending what was being said.

"_Oui, Colonel,_" said LeBeau coming forward. "You've been out cold for more than 4 hours. We had been keeping watch for when you awoke, but we had to leave you for afternoon roll call."

"That might have been my fault, sir," chipped in Baker as the group finished entering the barracks and quickly closed the door. "I had to put you under again when Klink came to pay his respects."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Backup, guys. What's going on here? Isn't this hell?" Hogan's confusion was written all over his face.

"Well, it's been called that on more than one occasion, Colonel, but it's not the one they teach about in Sunday School," replied Carter grinning widely.

"'Ere now, how's about you come and sit down while we explain it all," said Newkirk, putting his arm around Hogan's shoulders and directing the stunned man to the central table.

"But the execution…the firing squad…Hochstetter…" Hogan shook his head to clear it. His addled brain was still slow to catch up. He'd been through the ringer over the last eighteen hours and, unbeknownst to the Colonel, the last remnants of the chloroform weren't helping either.

"A ruse, _Colonel_, so you would be able to leave camp indefinitely, all arranged courtesy of London and Colonel Norbert," said LeBeau with a grimace.

"Norbert? Damn, that man caused all sorts of problems the last time I dealt with him. Last time he stole my identity, this time he took my life! When I get my hands on him…" Hogan snorted and scrubbed his face with one hand. No point yelling at the boys when his anger was for Norbert. He took a deep breath. "Start at the beginning," he ordered, brows furrowing in concentration.

Baker began the explanation. "About 10 minutes before your meeting with Little Jack Horner, we got a call on the radio. The contact identified himself as Colonel Norbert and told us the meeting was a setup he had arranged. You were going to be arrested by Major Hochstetter but he was under strict orders that no harm was to come to you – to get you into custody by whatever means necessary. If anything happened to you, it would be done back to him. Norbert wanted to make sure we wouldn't take any action when we found out that you'd been incarcerated."

"That's starting to make sense," Hogan mused as his gaze focussed on the bunk across the table. His memories of the night of the meet played before his eyes. "I got to the rendezvous site barely on time thanks to Klink's surprise roll call and got into the car. We exchanged recognition codes and I thought everything was on the up-and-up. Then Little Jack Horner revealed himself to be Major Hochstetter. He could have shot me right there for being a spy or he could have taken me into Gestapo headquarters for intensive…um, questioning. Instead he offered me a deal."

"A deal, Colonel? What kind of deal?" asked Carter, as he sat down on the bench across from Hogan.

Hogan's voice dropped to a murmur as he watched his fingers trace the worn knots on the table's surface. "I go with him quietly, sign a confession to being Papa Bear, and allow my execution to take place without trying to escape. In return, he was to leave all of you alone for the rest of the war."

Silence stretched out. There was an unvoiced understanding as each man absorbed the sacrifice the Colonel had been willing to make to keep them safe.

Finally Newkirk cleared his throat. "That musta confused the heck out of ya, gov'na. What with wicked Wolfie holdin' all the cards, so to speak."

"Yeah, it did." Hogan's voice regained its natural timbre as he looked up at the Cockney Corporal. "I couldn't figure out what was in it for him. He'd always been trying to prove to anyone who would listen that we were behind all the sabotage in the area. Then when he finally caught me red-handed, he throws in this deal out of left field. There was no benefit, no gain…"

The clinking of broken china could be heard as the Colonel's sentence drifted off again. LeBeau was busy cleaning up the shattered mug while the others briefed Hogan on what he'd missed.

"Anyway," continued Baker, "Norbert said that he needed you for another mission, but the only way you'd be above suspicion would be for you to appear to have died. That was what the whole setup was about – faking your execution. He arranged the firing squad to have special modified rifles. He explained the ammo they use is like a capsule that bursts on impact. Each pellet contained a mixture of red food colouring, corn starch, and chloroform. When the pellet impacted your chest, the food colouring looked like blood and the chloroform put you out so you collapsed like you'd been shot."

"That explains a lot; like why I didn't feel more than a bruising sting but was dizzy and lightheaded. I remember looking down and seeing all that 'blood'…" Hogan mentally shook himself. _Bottle it up, Rob, and deal with it later. You can't let them know how much it affected you._ "I noticed Hochstetter managed to get lucky with what cell he put me in the cooler. No tunnel access. I take it there was no other way to let me in on this little scheme?"

"We tried, sir. We really tried. Hochstetter had you under constant Gestapo guard. No one could approach the cooler without the Major being present or else they'd be shot. Even Schultz couldn't get in. He brought your breakfast as far as the gate and then it was inspected and delivered by Hochstetter's goons. It was extremely frustrating but we thought it was too dangerous to try to get into the cooler to let you know what was going on."

"Good decision. I'm not happy about being in the dark about it but much better than the alternative." Hogan paused before asking, "Norbert was in the VIP car wasn't he?"

"_Oui, Colonel_. He didn't get out until Hochstetter… until you were unconscious," confirmed LeBeau, placing a fresh cup of coffee before the Colonel.

Hogan took a sip of the strong brew. "Until Hochstetter what?" asked Hogan, looking at the Frenchman. LeBeau shifted under the scrutiny and looked to his team mates for support.

Carter jumped in, unable to contain himself from the retelling any longer. "Hochstetter went over to you after you collapsed and he had this really smug look on his face and then he just pulled out his gun and aimed it at your head. He just sorta paused there and boy was I scared. Hochstetter didn't have a modified pistol and I thought for sure that he was going to do something really bad and then Norbert was out of the car and walked right up to Hochstetter and moved his gun out of the way."

A chill ran though Hogan as he absorbed Carter's ramblings. "Hochstetter would have been taking aim for the head shot. It's standard Gestapo procedure after an execution," he said quietly, looking down at his hands that were wrapped around the coffee mug, hugging its warmth.

"Hochstetter was all set to follow through, but Norbert sidetracked him with a promotion. Hochstetter was furious Norbert stopped him but Norbert gave him a choice of being an Oberstleutnant or a Feldwebel. Ha! Even Schultz would have out-ranked him then! Needless to say, he chose Lieutenant Colonel and left you alone."

"Wow, old Wolfie finally got his promotion – figures it would be at my expense!" exclaimed Hogan, marvelling at the strange turn of events.

"Word out of Hammelburg is that he's been transferred to Berlin," added Baker. "He won't be around to bother us any more."

"So…" Hogan looked up at his team with a smile that was starting to show some of its old life. "Not dead then?" he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Not by a long shot, gov'na." Groans answered Newkirk's pun.

"Hmph. Could've sworn I was going to wake up dead today." With all the explanations out in the open and Hochstetter's behaviour justified, Hogan felt like he was finally getting his feet back under him. "I'm really glad I didn't," he added softly.

"So are we _mon ami_, so are we."


	5. Chapter 5: April 1, part 4

April 1, 1945

The remainder of the day passed in a blur of activity. Colonel Hogan made them stick to the bare-bones regulation format for his funeral plans and the service was quickly settled. Two of Klink's guards dropped off the coffin after evening mess and it was filled with dirt from the tunnels below. Hogan suppressed a shudder as he passed the crude plain wood box with rope handles that was to have been his final resting place. Heading to the tunnels, he asked Baker to connect him with London.

"Papa Bear to Goldilocks, Papa Bear to Goldilocks, come in please," said Baker into the microphone while adjusting dials on the radio.

"Goldilocks here Papa Bear, go ahead," came the reply from across the English Channel. Baker handed the microphone and ear piece to Colonel Hogan before leaving to return to the barracks. Receiving them with a nod of thanks, Hogan sat on a nearby stool and took over the conversation in private.

"I understand you have been working with a mutual friend." Hogan grimaced at the use of that term in reference to Norbert. "Am awaiting instruction on next mission, over."

"Yes, Papa Bear. Rendezvous in same location as last meeting, 19:30 hours tomorrow, as per friend's instructions, over," came the tinny voice through the receiver.

"Acknowledged, Goldilocks. Any idea what next mission will be? Over," asked Hogan, trying not to go to his meet with Norbert completely in the dark.

"High-profile position in Berlin. Friend will provide specifics at meet. Good show on ruse to fool Jerry. We'll miss you Papa Bear."

"Thanks, Goldilocks, the feeling is mutual," replied Hogan, and he realized it was true. Over the years, they had come to rely on the link with London to get them out of one scrape or another. He would be alone in Berlin, free to make his own decisions but also without any backup.

One other thought suddenly crossed his mind. "I have one last request, over."

"What do you require? Over."

"Kommandant to have filed report with Red Cross on my demise. Request it be intercepted, along with personal affects, over." It was critical the report be stopped. If the Red Cross report got filed, his family would be notified of his death. There was no way that Robert wanted them put through that. Hogan's knee bounced as he anxiously waited for London's response.

"Afraid we can't do that, old chap. Must keep up appearances on all fronts to protect your cover. Never know who might make inquiries, over."

"Family will be notified if you fail to intercept, Goldilocks, over," gritted out Hogan, whose anger was growing at London being so callous towards his family's feelings.

"Can't be helped I'm afraid. Ruse has to be maintained at all costs. Orders are for you and your team not to do anything to jeopardize this. Understood? Over."

"Understood, Goldilocks, over." Hogan clenched his fist around the microphone so hard his knuckles turned white. He'd just been ordered to keep his family in the dark.

"Anything else Papa Bear? Over."

"No," Hogan bit out. "Papa Bear over and out." Hogan threw down the headset in disgust, missing London's sign-off. He carefully shut down the radio as Kinch had taught him to do. Suddenly, he slammed the palm of his hand against one of the support beams, his fury reaching the boiling point. It was a long time before Hogan ventured back upstairs again.

* * *

While Hogan was busy contacting London, a tense moment occurred in the barracks when Schultz, Langensheidt, and a few of the long-time regular guards came to pay their respects to Colonel Hogan. Fortunately, the coffin had already been nailed shut so the Colonel didn't have to 'play dead', which was good considering he was downstairs at the time.

Eventually, Colonel Hogan reappeared from the tunnels. He informed his team he was scheduled to meet Norbert tomorrow evening and would be leaving them then. LeBeau put together a small dinner. Everyone sat around the table, picking at their food, no one particularly hungry after the events of the day.

As the evening rolled on, the team became increasingly aware that this would be their last night together, hopefully just until the end of the war when they could be reunited, but all too conscious of the danger their commander was walking into. Soon, 'Remember when we…' started to fill the air as everyone reminisced about past missions. LeBeau brought out a couple of bottles of wine and before long, an impromptu party was being held in the common room. As the wine flowed, many stories and good times were recounted, with exaggerations and impersonations (some good, most bad) embellishing the retellings the more they drank. By the time Schultz came round for lights out, the party had developed into a full-blown wake.

Hogan slipped into his bunk as quietly as he could, partly for subterfuge with Schultz in the outer room, and partly due to LeBeau's wine working on his head. He was bound to have a hang-over tomorrow. He couldn't remember the last time he'd drank so much. While the alcohol had made him sleepy, his mind still felt too keyed up to allow him rest. This was his last night at Stalag 13. His last night! Joyful thoughts danced through his head along with the bubble-bursting reminders that the war wasn't over and he was about to embark on an extremely dangerous mission. He thought of his team and the closeness and trust they had developed over the years. He wouldn't have that where he was going. He would be flying solo with Norbert once again setting him up and then abandoning him in the field.

Hogan could hear Schultz settling his men and knew they'd be ok. Most of the operation was going to be shut down with him gone, with only the Traveller's Aid portion remaining up full time. The sabotage and risky spy missions would be handled on an as-needed basis. London had informed him a couple of days ago that the Allies were headed their way so perhaps liberation wasn't that far off. With a bit of luck, the war would be over by summer.

Hogan's eyelids were drooping, heavier now with the lure of dreamland as he settled into his thin mattress and pillow. As he felt himself floating on the edge of sleep, replaying the day's events in his head, he suddenly realized the irony of today's date. He barely held back a drunken giggle as he imagined himself jumping up from where Hochstetter had shot him and yelling "April Fools!" at the Gestapo man. With a smile on his lips, Hogan surrendered to the wine-enhanced arms of Morpheus.


	6. Chapter 6: April 2

April 2, 1945

"Attention!"

Over a thousand booted feet moved as one and filled the air with a _clump_ that pounded the dirt of the Stalag's central compound. German guards in the watchtowers around camp had their guns aimed at the men gathered below in perfect ranks and files. Oblivious to the scrutiny, the prisoners stood ram-rod straight in silence. There was no slouching today, no guffawing or banter exchanged, no harassing of guards. Uniforms had been washed and mended, and the worst of the mud cleaned from worn boots – some even retained a degree of polish that had been spit-shined to weakly reflect the pale morning sun. All focus was on the solitary crude wooden casket resting on a pair of saw-horses before the Kommandant's office. No flag was available to cover the bare wood or to honour the fallen man inside.

From the porch of the Kommandantur, several familiar German officers stood and watched the proceedings. Sergeant Schultz stood to one side, just behind Colonel Klink, who, for once, was not fawning and tripping over himself as he tried to placate his superiors. General Burkhalter, as head of the Luftwaffe Stalags, had come for a personal report on the incident. He would admit to no one that he had timed his arrival for just as the funeral was beginning, to secretly pay his farewells to a respected enemy officer. Lastly, Lieutenant Colonel Hochstetter stood at the far end, wearing the long trench coat and felt fedora preferred by the higher-ranking Gestapo officers. He felt a personal need to see this through to its conclusion before transferring to his new post in Berlin. He tried to keep his face neutral and hide the natural smugness that threatened to erupt but inside he gloated gleefully at Hogan's demise.

The men of Barracks 2 were leading the ceremony. Olson began the American national anthem, with all the other Americans joining in. Baker's strong voice easily carried Psalm 23 to every prisoner gathered. Newkirk's gentle baritone led the singing of Amazing Grace and LeBeau added the Lord's Prayer in Latin, English and French. Salutes were held while Carter played Taps on a trumpet borrowed from the Rec Hall. The two minutes of silence that followed were strained. The total absence of sound would not have been believed – not a rustle or shuffle heard, not a cough or even the breaths of several hundred men disturbed the peace. A gentle breeze whispered the pine trees outside of camp and a bird twittered from a far-off perch. Everyone breathed again when Newkirk finally signalled for the pallbearers to move forward. The Germans would not allow the prisoners to fire a gun volley.

Newkirk, LeBeau, Carter, Baker, Olsen, and Wilson moved to surround the coffin. Grasping the rough rope handles, they lifted in unison and marched towards the camp gates where they were flanked by a small group of German soldiers. The guards swung the gates open at their approach, but only enough for the solemn party to pass through. The guns of the nearest guard tower followed the little procession.

The men arrived at the hole that had been prepared near the tree line. Ignoring the bite of the raw rope in their palms, they gently lowered the box full of tunnel dirt into the ground with respect and care, as if their commander really did reside inside. The guards stepped back and kept watch, rifles at the ready. Grabbing the shovels that had been left by the trees, the men made quick work of filling in the hole, the clods of dirt echoing on the box until it was covered. They promptly reformed their ranks, standing at attention and giving a crisp salute. As one, they turned and marched back into camp, returning to their place in front of the Kommandantur. The men were dismissed. Prison life in Stalag 13 went on.

* * *

Back inside Barracks 2, Hogan lowered the taps on the sink that served as their periscope to spy on happenings in the compound, just as the procession was headed outside the fence with 'his' coffin. Breathing out a gush of air, he leaned heavily on the sink, studying the drain without really seeing it. Catching sight of Hochstetter had caused a reaction in him that surprised him. Flashbacks of the execution played out in his mind's eye. Hogan flinched as he reheard Hochstetter call "Fire!" and the report of the rifles echo, and he rubbed his chest as he recalled the bruising of the bullets' impact.

Pulling himself upward, Hogan caught his reflection in the mirror over the sink and wondered when he had gotten so old looking. Worn creases wrinkled his forehead and around his eyes, and there were a lot more grey hairs feathering his temples than when the war started. He caught the brief look of despair in the eyes of the reflection and gritted his teeth with determination, shoving his emotions down deep inside. _Hochstetter hasn't won – I am living proof of that_. Slamming the psychological door on the events of that day, he locked everything away with all the other unpleasant necessities he had done during his life and wiped clean the expression on his face.

Finally drawing himself up to attention, Hogan surveyed the man in the mirror one last time. The man staring back stoically met with his approval. Turning, Hogan retreated to his quarters. He had a mission to prepare for.


	7. Chapter 7: April 2, part 2

April 2, 1945

The mood was subdued in the tunnels under Stalag 13, as Colonel Hogan placed a medium sized box on the main table. The other men on his team were gathered around while Baker kept half an eye on the radio.

"You all know where the code books, maps, and other documents are secured in my room. Carter is still thinking over whether he wants to move in there or not as SPO. I've boxed up my personal effects. Most of it Klink is shipping back home through the Red Cross. I'd appreciate it however, if you could see that this box gets sent back to London directly. Inside are items like my bomber jacket, cap, and other things Klink would find suspicious to send through regular channels. London's expecting it and will hold it until the end of the war, unless it is confirmed I'm not returning."

At the Colonel's words, the mood turned even more sombre. Hogan turned and pulled civilian clothing out of his locker. Shrugging into a camel coloured tweed jacket, he took a quick glance at his team, noting the long faces they were trying to conceal. Reaching into the locker, he took his gun off the top shelf, checked it was loaded and the safety on, and slipped it into the holster under his arm. Hogan could feel the tension in the small room continue to rise as the team shuffled and tried to appear casual, like this was any other mission he was prepping for. Sighing, he closed the locker door and turned to face his men.

"Look, guys," Hogan began. "I'll be fine. You'll be fine. London thinks this war will be over by fall, sooner if this mission turns out better than expected. I know this isn't how any of us pictured the Operation going. I wanted to be here at the end of the war just to see Klink's face when our tanks did come through the gates. I wanted to walk out the gates with all of you as free men but I've got to follow my orders. You are all well trained and work together like a well-oiled machine. You've been going out on your own more frequently and have proven that you can handle things when they don't go exactly according to plan. You're more than ready to take this on without me."

"That may be, but we'd rather have you here, sir," said Baker.

"_Oui, mon colonel_, it will not be the same without you. _Bonne chance_," added LeBeau.

Silence stretched out once more. Hogan looked down at his hands that were braced on the table. The men could tell by the expression on his face that he was debating internally and they waited patiently for him to resolve the conflict within himself. Not raising his head, Hogan finally began to speak once more.

"When I was standing in front of that firing squad, I realized I had one regret in regards to you men. And yet, as I prepare to leave, not knowing if we'll see each other again, I find myself unable to correct that one thing I felt remorse for. Here I am with a second chance and I'm still hesitant to take it." Hogan paused, took a deep breath and looked at each of his men. "At command school, they always taught us not to get too attached to those under you. You had to be detached enough to still be able to order men into situations where you know they had a strong chance of not surviving. But this command has been nothing like anything taught in the classroom and I want to thank you for that. Your loyalty and friendship have made this a team beyond a command. A family if you will. And just because 'Papa' is leaving, the cubs are not to fight amongst themselves. Carter's in charge. He knows all of you as well as I do, your strengths and weaknesses, but the ultimate decision is his to make. We do good work here – work that will shorten the war. I know you've heard that before and it seems like this war will go on forever. It's already lasted far longer than anyone predicted. But at least it looks like we might win in the end.

"You know London is cutting back on the sabotage and spying assignments and maybe you think they just don't trust you to get the job done without me here. But getting downed fliers back to England is just as important, maybe more so, especially now. The war has been dragging on. The soldiers they're drafting seem to be getting younger and more inexperienced as this continues. You know how full this camp is getting, and the numbers continue to increase weekly. The more men we can get back to our side, the better. London gets more experienced soldiers back and there is less crowding in the camps. I'm afraid of what the Germans will do if the camps get too full. There's only so much food and supplies to go around and as the Reich starts to fall, there will be less for the Stalags as Berlin makes sure their fighting forces continue to have good provisions at our expense. We've already started to see cutbacks and supply delays. Klink's been having difficulty providing all that extra bread we keep doing job details for.

"Germany is starting to panic. The Allies crossed the Rhine to the northwest of here at the beginning of March and I received word a couple of days ago that they have broken through the Ruhr pocket. The Soviets are pushing the Eastern Front hard and things aren't so rosy in Italy either. However, desperate times mean desperate measures and for a madman like Hitler, we don't know what kind of reaction he's going to make. I'm going to Berlin, so I'll be right in the thick of whatever happens. I want you boys to be safe. Don't take any unnecessary chances. I want to see all of you in London after the war."

"That goes for you too, boy…I mean sir," said Carter. "We want to see you again after this is all said and done. Can you at least send us a postcard to let us know you're alright?"

"Carter, you know I can't do anything to jeopardize my cover," replied Hogan, rolling his eyes.

"Gee-whiz, Colonel, I know that but it sure would help us to not worry about you while you're gone."

Before another uncomfortable silence could descend, Hogan pushed on.

"Well, fellas, I guess this is it. Don't want to miss my ride. Norbert might get a little upset. By tomorrow night, I'll be happily ensconced in my own cozy apartment in Berlin. Take care of yourselves and thanks for everything." Hogan offered a handshake to each member of his team.

"Good luck, gov'na. You've kept things from gettin' boring 'round 'ere, that's for sure," said Newkirk.

Finally, with a chorus of "Good luck", "Keep safe", and "_Au revoir_" following him, Hogan turned and headed towards the tunnel that would take him to the emergency exit. Alone now, he paused at the bottom of the ladder that would take him up through the tree stump at the edge of the forest outside camp. A brief melancholy feeling washed over him as he looked down the long tunnel that represented all they had accomplished here in such a short amount of time. He could just barely hear the others still talking in the radio room, already starting to adjust to him no longer being head of the team. With a sigh, Hogan mentally closed this chapter of his military career and headed up the ladder to his rendezvous with Oberst Norbert.

* * *

A/N: The Allies crossed the Rhine at Remagen on March 7th and broke out of the Rurh pocket on March 25th.

Hogan has finally left camp. I didn't think he'd ever leave - always seemed to have one more scene to do. Thanks all for the continued support.


	8. Chapter 8: April 2, part 3

April 2, 1945

Hogan lifted the top of the tree stump a couple of inches and peered around, looking for patrols and the position of the guard tower search light. He quickly closed it again as the powerful beam of light swept over the forest and his exit. Knowing the timing from long experience, Hogan gave it a three-count before cracking the lid to the stump again. Sure enough, the search light had passed. After another quick check for patrols, he threw the lid back and gracefully climbed out of the emergency exit before dashing to the denser part of the forest for cover.

Recognizing several distinctly-shaped trees, the Colonel oriented himself and struck out to the east. Silently weaving through the forest, mindful of undergrowth, roots and fallen branches that could trip him up, Hogan made good time to his designated meeting place.

It was only 19:30 hours, but the sun had set half an hour ago and most of the twilight had faded, the sky starting to deepen to dark night with the first stars appearing. Enough light remained however, for Hogan to make out the lone black officer's car parked in the small clearing at the side of the road to Hammelburg.

Taking one last look around for patrols, Hogan felt a sense of déjà vu as he approached the waiting staff car. However, unlike two days ago, this time he knew there was a German officer sitting inside anticipating his arrival. Nearing the vehicle, Hogan could see a figure in the back seat and one in the driver's seat. Raising his left hand, he rapped twice with a knuckle on the glass of the right-rear car door before moving to open it and climb in. Settling himself in the backseat, Hogan turned to his patiently waiting host.

"Boo!"

"Ah, Hogan! Back from the dead I see," declared Norbert, indicating to his driver to proceed. "And still punctual. We'll make a German out of you yet."

"Well it certainly hasn't been for lack of trying," replied Hogan with a sudden hint of fury in his voice. Now face-to-face with Norbert, he felt his anger flare in his gut. "You know, I really didn't appreciate the whole execution scenario you set up for me."

"Couldn't be helped, I'm afraid. I had to have you reassigned indefinitely so what better way to curb suspicion than to kill you off? You couldn't expect me to go with the 'in SS custody' bit again. It's getting rather old. Besides, no one would believe you survived weeks or months of interrogation with no lasting affects."

"But at least I could have come back! You shot me!"

"The bullets weren't real."

"I didn't know that! I thought I was dead!"

"I wanted to see just how far you would go to protect your men and serve your country."

"My record speaks for itself. Besides, you could have just asked."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"So you admit that this was a test."

"I'm not admitting anything. I needed to make sure that the man sent into this would be willing to give up everything if necessary."

"I've never backed down from a mission before, even that last cockamamie scheme of yours…"

"You passed by the way. London was right to select you for this job."

"London!"

"At my suggestion. The way you handled yourself last time was a good indication that you would. Congratulations on your medal by the way."

"I could have lived without it. My family will be told I'm dead because of you."

"It may still come to be true. Nothing is guaranteed, especially in war."

"All I'm saying is a little bit of warning would have been appreciated. You seem to trust me to play the role of whatever German I'm supposed to replace, but you don't trust my acting when it comes to faking my own death!"

"I had to make it real for Hochstetter's sake or else he would never have let this lie. No one will be looking for you now."

Hogan growled under his breath and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, knowing Norbert would always do things his way. He only hoped that this would be the last time he would fall victim to Norbert's whims. Resignedly, he sighed and asked, "Who am I this time?"

"That's the Hogan I know. SS Captain Erlich Strauss," said Norbert approvingly, handing the Colonel a folder from the briefcase on the seat between them. Hogan accepted the file and began skimming the contents in the fading daylight, finding out about the man he was to become.

"Administration? I'm a damn paper-pusher in Berlin! How is this going to help?" exclaimed Hogan, pausing in his reading to look up incredulously, wondering if all that he'd been through so far would be worth it.

"You'll be working in the same office as SS Captain Hans Pfeiffer, sharing his office duties. Ever heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have. A Captain can't be that important can he?" mused Hogan. The car rocked as it hit several pot holes in the road.

"This one can. He's the SS Adjutant to the Führer," replied Norbert.

A low whistle escaped Hogan's lips. "Hitler's page boy, eh? Ok, this could have possibilities then," thought Hogan. He watched the trees go by the car window in the near-dark, turning over several scenarios in his mind_. Intercepted messages, incomplete orders, redirected troop movements…hmmm._

"Any one else in the office that I should be particularly concerned about?" asked Hogan.

"Not that we're aware of at this time. Most of the _unteroffiziers_ have been posted there for more than a year, the last one 9 months ago. If anything suspicious comes to light, you'll probably be the first one they'll suspect, even though you'll out-rank them all."

"Thanks for the heads-up. That's good to know."

The trees were thinning as the car continued its steady drive down the road, heading vaguely south-east. Soon the forest gave way to farmland and small hamlets with the occasional check-point that they passed with no difficulties. Hogan and Norbert continued to talk, the American Colonel mostly asking questions of the German one, gaining information and insight into his new persona. An hour after Hogan's pickup, the car was weaving its way through the city streets of Bamberg, finally arriving at the train station.

"We have a private compartment. Your suitcases are in the trunk, along with your uniform. I would suggest that you put it on as soon as we board," said Norbert as he climbed out of the vehicle with his briefcase in hand. "Orders are in the inside pocket."

The driver had flagged a porter from the station, who promptly loaded the two officers' bags from the trunk onto a small trolley. They waited for him to finish, then followed the middle-aged porter into the station and out onto the appropriate platform. The train to Berlin was already in the station and boarding passengers. Locating the correct car, Norbert and Hogan found their compartment as the porter stowed their luggage. Norbert tipped the man before dismissing him and closing the compartment door. A few minutes later, Norbert's driver joined them, having dealt with the car before coming aboard.

Hogan started going through his luggage, finding all the items he was going to need to change into uniform. He hung the jacket and pants on a nearby hook while he dug out socks, boots and an official undershirt. Fortunately, he'd had the foresight to put on German underwear before leaving the tunnels earlier in the day.

The muted 'whoot-whoot' of the engine's whistle was heard as the last cries of "All Aboard!" from the conductor echoed from the station platform. With a lurch, the train was put in gear and slowly started out of the station, gaining speed as the engineer coaxed more thrust out of the engine.

Hogan stood to remove and pack his camel jacket, hoping that Norbert and his driver would soon excuse themselves so he could change, not relishing the idea of dropping his pants in front of them. However, a knock on the compartment door caused him to pause in his task. Sliding back the door, Hogan was met with two armed Heer soldiers wearing grey uniforms.

"Can we help you, _Feldwebels_?" asked Hogan, looking back and forth between the two men, automatically assessing what danger they might pose.

"Tickets and papers _Herr_, _bitte_," replied the one on the right.

Stepping back, Hogan allowed the first soldier to enter the small compartment as he moved to retrieve the orders Norbert had said were in his uniform. Norbert had taken the tickets and his orders out of his briefcase, and handed them to the Sergeant. Norbert's driver also handed over his orders, having taken them out of his uniform pocket.

"These appear to be in order, _danke Herr Oberst_," said the Sergeant, handing back the papers with a nod and click of his heels. "Now yours, _Herr_…my apologies _Hauptsturmf__ü__hrer_, I did not realize…" trailed off the Sergeant, having just noticed Hogan's SS uniform hanging behind him.

"No matter, _Feldwebel_, I have just been urgently recalled from leave and have yet to have a chance to change. I am certain that you'll find these in order as well," replied Hogan, handing over his papers.

"_Jawol, Herr Hauptsturmf__ü__hrer_, they appear to be fine. _Guten Abend_, Heil Hitler!" said the Sergeant, returning the papers and leaving the compartment.

"Now that that has been taken care of," said Norbert, rising from his seat, "We'll leave you to change. Shall we bring you anything from the dining car?"

"No thanks, I'm fine for now," replied Hogan, relieved he was to get some privacy.

Norbert and his driver exited the compartment and Hogan was finally alone. Quickly removing his clothing, he changed into his new uniform and stowed his old clothes in his luggage before sitting back to enjoy the ride.

* * *

The 4 hour trip to Berlin was uneventful. Several stops were made in major centers as they crossed the country. The men in the compartment alternated between talking and napping. Eventually, Hogan did make a brief visit to the dining car for a small late-evening snack.

It was nearly 01:00 by the time the train pulled into Berlin. Wearily, the officers detrained and headed through the station, following another porter and his trolley with their luggage. Norbert's driver went ahead to secure a vehicle, which was waiting out-front for them by the time the Colonels emerged.

The streets were mostly deserted, the occasional officer's car passing quickly by carrying their important passengers to unknown emergencies. And while general public had to observe curfew, at this late hour most would have been happily at home in bed anyways. The streets were dark, with blackout curtains hiding all evidence of anyone who was still awake.

Norbert's driver navigated the city streets from the central train station, eventually ending up on Berlin's main boulevard, Unter den Linden. Arriving at number 77, the Hotel Adlon, he pulled over and shut off the vehicle.

"This is where you'll be staying for the next little while, Hogan," said Norbert. "The hotel has a few long-term rooms that it rents and I've secured one for Captain Strauss. Two months rent have been paid upfront, so if you're still here come June, you'll have to pay or move out. Your office is only 4 blocks to the south in the Reich Chancellery."

"One thing before I go, Norbert. Hochstetter's files and my signed confession – what happened to them? I can't risk another of the Gestapo's goons using them against the men remaining at Stalag 13."

"I had Hochstetter turn all his files and evidence related to your case over to me before he was allowed to accept his promotion. That reminds me, he was transferred to Berlin, so try not to run into him at the corner store. The files have all been destroyed. Now, given the lateness of the hour, I'll bid you good night and good luck."

Reassured that his men would continue to be safe, Hogan climbed out of the car and retrieved his bags from Norbert's driver, who had removed them from the trunk and placed them on the broad sidewalk in front of the hotel. He gave a slight wave to Norbert as his driver pulled away from the curb to take the Oberst home. Looking up at his new residence, he took in the large, square, 5-storey building with its yellowy-orange brick, rectangle windows and sloping green roof. Heading inside with a bag in each hand, he approached the main desk to sign in. He completed the necessary paper-work, retrieved his keys, and headed up the stairs to the second floor where the long-term rooms were. Transient visitors had floors 3 and 4, higher up with less traffic noise to disturb them. The top floor had opulent suites for dignitaries, a rare luxury since the Hotel Kaiserhof, Berlin's famous 5-star hotel, had been destroyed by bombing 2 years earlier.

Finding Room 214 a few doors down from the stairwell, Hogan unlocked the door and entered his new home-away-from-home. Dropping the bags just inside the door, he hit the light switch and illuminated the single overhead bulb.

The room was compact. A double bed was to the left with a small table on each side, both with table lamps. A 6-drawer dresser stood to the left, backing onto the wall of the hall. To his right was a pair of doors, a closet and washroom with sink, toilet, and tub/shower. There was also a small kitchen with a wall of cupboards, sink, and two-burner hotplate. A table with a pair of chairs sat under the lone window covered with blackout curtains.

Hogan took a quick look around, weariness curbing his curiosity to investigate everything in his bachelor pad. It wasn't huge but it was at least 3 times larger than his office at Stalag 13, with the added bonus of not having to share a shower or cross the compound to use the latrine. In-room washrooms were indeed rare. He unpacked a few items from his luggage, hung his extra uniforms in the closet, and secured his handgun in the bedside table. By now it was nearing 02:30, so he hastily changed into his nightclothes and washed up, leaving the bulk of his unpacking until morning.

The day had been long and grueling, both physically and emotionally. It felt like days had passed since his short funeral, the goodbyes to his team, and departure from Stalag 13, never mind the draining train travel. Now, here he was in Berlin with a whole new persona.

Finally, Hogan climbed into his new bed and turned out the bedside light. He didn't even get a chance to wonder if his bed would be comfortable as he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

A/N: The Hotel Adlon does exist on Unter den Linden in Berlin, although I do not know what it was like inside in 1945. There are pictures of it on Wikipedia or Google Maps for those interested.


	9. Chapter 9: April 3

April 3, 1945

"Raus! Raus! Everyone up! Roll call!" Schulz's bellow as he entered and moved through the room was more than enough to disturb the sleep of the prisoners in Barracks 2. Circling the room, he banged a few bunks with the butt-end of his rifle to encourage the sounder-sleepers to awaken. Out of habit, he ended up at the office door and gave it a loud rap. "Colonel Ho--"

"Lookin' for me, Schultz?" asked Carter, sliding up beside the rotund German.

"_Guten Morgen_, Carter. I need to get Colonel…" Schultz broke off, looking at the closed door, and suddenly realized no one was inside. Getting flustered, he tried to continue, "…that is, er, uh, get everyone up and out to roll call im-med-iate-ly," Schultz punctuated each syllable with a jab of his finger. "The big guy is not in a good mood this morning and we cannot be late. Please, Carter..."

"Well, why didn't cha say so?" Turning to the room at large, Carter raised his voice, "Ok fellas, up and at 'em. Schultz says it's time for roll call – let's go! We don't want to make him look bad. Mach schnell!" Right away the prisoners climbed out of their bunks and exited the barracks to fall into formation outside. "After you Schultz..."

"Danke, Carter" said the Sergeant, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and heading out the door. Carter followed and took his place at the right end of the front row where Colonel Hogan used to stand.

Schultz began counting, "Eins, zwei, drei…" moving across the back row, making sure everyone was who they were supposed to be. He stopped when he got to where Carter usually stood. Looking around, he spotted the blonde American at the head of the front row. Finishing his count, he was one prisoner short of his usual 15.

Trying not to make a scene, Schultz asked Carter under his breath, "What are you _doing_?"

"What do you mean, Schultz? I'm waiting for roll call to be over. Could you hurry it up a little? It's cold out here this morning," replied Carter, stamping his feet and rubbing his gloved hands together.

With a little bit more whine and urgency, Schultz replied, "Carter, you're supposed to be standing over there." He pointed. "Please Carter, no monkey business this morning."

"Schultz, this _is_ my spot now. Now that Colonel Hogan is, well, uh, gone, I'm the Senior Prisoner of War. Klink appointed me yesterday. Remember?"

Realizing his faux pas, Schultz hung his head. "I'm sorry Carter. It's just so hard to get used to. Colonel Hogan was always standing there and for so long. You boys loved to be the jolly jokers and I keep hoping that this is just more of your usual high jinx. It was a horrible thing that Major – och, Lieutenant Colonel Hochstetter did. This isn't a nightmare that I'm going to wake up from, is it?"

"'Fraid not, Schultz. We've had to accept it and move on. Just have faith that Colonel Hogan is in a better place. Believe me, it helps." Carter wished he could let Schultz in on the secret that the Colonel was still alive, but there was no way he could risk the news getting out to any one.

Kommandant Klink chose that moment to exit his office. Strutting off the porch in his long winter coat, monocle in one eye and riding crop under one arm, he quickly crossed the compound, yelling "REEEPOOOORT!"

Schultz turned to salute his superior officer and prepared himself to report 1 missing prisoner.

"Psst. Schultz."

"What now, Carter?" he muttered under his breath with arm still raised to his forehead.

"You did remember that there's only 14 of us now, right?"

Finishing his salute to Klink, Schultz loudly announced, "All prisoners, present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant."

Klink had stopped and returned Schultz' salute. Doing a double-take at Carter's position in line, his eyes narrowed in displeasure for a moment before his face returned to a more normal expression.

"Thank you, Schultz. Sergeant Carter, report to my office. Diiiis-missed!"

* * *

At that moment, Hogan was indeed in a better place. Four hours after the morning roll call at Stalag 13, he rolled over in bed and began to wake up. It was still very dark in his room due to the black out curtains not letting in any daylight. After a few minutes of disorientation, Hogan recalled where he was and how he got there. Flipping on the bedside lamp, he read the clock: 9:08.

Knowing he'd had more than his usual allotment of sleep for one night, Hogan sat up, yawned and stretched, and got himself out of bed. Padding across the floor in bare feet, he yanked open the curtains to let the sun shine in. His room faced west and was over the small restaurant off the lobby of the hotel. Looking down he could see the cars moving east and west along Unter den Linden as well as a fountain shooting water high up into the air beside the hotel. A few early-risers were walking along the broad sidewalk.

Hogan's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't had a descent meal in quite a while, and breaking his concentration on the goings-on outside his window. Turning to investigate his small kitchenette, he quickly found no food had been stocked in either the cupboards. Deciding his best course of action was to eat at the restaurant downstairs, Hogan quickly showered, shaved and donned his SS uniform.

It was Tuesday, and although it would normally be a full working day, his orders did not have him reporting to the Reich Chancellery until the afternoon. That gave Hogan the morning to get acquainted with the capital city, do some shopping, and find his way around.

It was not his first trip to Berlin; however it was the first where he would have to live on a daily basis as a regular person, fit in with the locals, provide for himself and do normal things like banking and shopping. At least the hotel did laundry and would polish his jack-boots.

Hogan locked his room door and pocketed the key. He took the stairs down to the main floor, whistling a little as he went, enjoying his freedom. This would be a fairly stress-free morning as he would be mostly interacting with civilians. The pressure of undercover work was heavier when having to deal with anyone in the military.

He crossed the lobby to the small café, where a pretty dark-haired frauline seated him right away. Pouring him a cup of coffee, she offered him a menu and went to straighten a couple of tables while he made his decision. Opting for the kartoffeln omelette, he placed his order and reached out to snag the Berlin daily newspaper left by another customer on a nearby table.

He read all the main headlines and stories, getting a feel for how the Nazi propaganda ministry was putting a spin on events as he knew them. He had to start thinking more like a Nazi, rather than an Ally. When his potato omlet arrived, he flirted a bit with the waitress, got a refill on his coffee and dug in hungrily.

The taste was heaven. LeBeau was a fine chef, and made miracles out of the supplies they had managed to pilfer or sneak in through the underground, but this was fresh, down-to-earth home cooking. Not a scrap of sawdust had come anywhere near the bread the toast had been made out of, and the eggs were definitely not powdered. And better yet was the fact that there wasn't a boiled cabbage to be seen.

He quickly finished his meal, and wistfully regretted the fact it hadn't lasted longer. Beckoning to Brigitta, his server, he asked her to join him briefly to answer some questions, which she eagerly did.

Having a better idea of the lay of the land, so to speak, Hogan left Birgitta a decent tip and left the hotel to explore a little of the city before he had to report to work in a few hours. Exiting the hotel, he could see the Pariser Platz to the west, and the Brandenburg Gate just beyond that. While it was one of the major symbols of Berlin, Hogan thought that sight-seeing could wait. A more important priority was the need for groceries. While he would have liked to have spent more time at the restaurant with Brigitta, he also realized it wasn't in the budget for a mere Captain to be able to afford to eat out several meals a day, every day. No need to call attention to himself unnecessarily.

Hogan struck out east from the hotel, walking along the broad boulevard that was Unter den Linden. The large old trees were starting to bud in the early spring weather, the snows having already disappeared weeks ago from this part of the country. Within a couple of blocks, he arrived at Friedrichstraße, which he had been told was the center of shopping for the area.

Hogan spent the next couple of hours window shopping and noting the locations of several establishments, including the bank where Norbert had set up Erlich Strauss' accounts. He would have to do mundane things like banking now that he didn't have access to manufacturing his own money in the tunnels under Stalag 13. It was like being a civilian again!

Walking through the streets of Berlin gave Hogan a different perspective of being a bomber pilot. As he wandered around, he noted several buildings had been destroyed, their brick structures crumbled in piles between other shops that were unscathed. He would pass several buildings that were intact followed by one that was obliterated, and once more back to full buildings again. It gave the streets a strange look, like a row of teeth with one or two knocked out.

Realizing it was getting on for 11:30, he stopped at the grocery store closest to Unter den Linden and picked up some food he thought he remembered how to cook and wasn't too pricey. He also had to remember there was no place to store foods like milk that needed to keep cool. Hogan figured he'd be hitting the market on a regular basis for breakfast foods as he would be getting lunch and probably dinner provided at the office.

Fresh fruits and vegetables were out of season and very hard to get, so the price of them was extravagant. Unable to resist, Hogan did splurge on a couple of nice, crisp apples because he hadn't had them in so many years and they reminded him of home. The apples LeBeau got were often wormy and mushy so strudel was the only use for them. Hogan also bought half a dozen eggs, a loaf of fresh bread, stick of butter, a jar of honey, and a bit of ham. He refused to even look at a cabbage.

A brief ten minute walk later, and he was back at his hotel room, putting his purchases away on the shelf. He refrained from making lunch, being still full from his overly-large, late breakfast despite all the walking that he had done. Plus he was used to eating only two meals a day back at camp, and not huge ones at that.

At 12:30, Hogan decided he'd better get going to his new job. Thanks once more to Brigitta, he knew the Reich Chancellery was four blocks south of the hotel at the corner of Voßstraße & Wilhelmstraße. Grabbing one of his prized apples, he headed out the door and into his new military life as Captain Erlich Strauss.

* * *

Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter, US Army Air Corps, newly appointed Senior POW Officer of Stalag 13, tried to walk confidently across the compound, trailing behind Kommandant Klink as he led the way to his office. Every once in a while, Carter would look back over his shoulder at Barracks 2, the building shrinking to a speck in the distance in his minds eye, as if it was 200 miles away rather than the 200 feet it was in reality. It had never seemed so far before.

Following Klink through the door to the outer office, Carter swallowed nervously and smiled at Hilda who was busy completing a mound of paperwork stacked on one side of her desk. By the time Carter had made it through the inner office door, Klink had already rounded his desk and was perched on the edge of his chair, sorting through papers scattered across the desktop. Carter came in and closed the door, standing off to the side as he wasn't sure whether he should take a seat or not. Taking off his cap, he looked up at the picture of the Führer giving a speech, the presence of the microphone that was connected to the coffee pot in Barracks 2 giving him a morale boost from his team waiting across camp. He didn't know if they were actually listening or not.

Klink seemed oblivious that he was here, so Carter took a tentative step forward. "Sergeant Carter reports as ordered, sir," he said, firmly but quietly.

Several more minutes went by, with Klink continuing to ignore him. Gathering a bit more courage, Carter cleared his throat and tried again. "Did you want to see me for something, Kommandant?"

At this, Klink raised his head and finally paid attention Carter, who was shifting back and forth on his feet and twisting his cap in his hands. _Odd,_ he thought. _Hogan would have pilfered 3 cigars and a glass of schnapps by now._ "Yes, Sergeant, please take a seat."

Once Carter had dropped himself into the waiting chair, Klink continued. "We have a problem. A few actually," he admitted. He paused to sit back in his seat, studying Carter to see what his reaction would be to his first piece of news. "First of all, the Red Cross packages are delayed this month. I realize they should have been arriving today; however I received word that the supply chain was cut off when the western front shifted. My superiors couldn't tell me if they will ever come at all and there is nothing that I can do about it. You realize of course, that this also includes the mail delivery."

Carter swallowed as he took in the news. Colonel Hogan had warned him that something like this might happen, especially since the Allies crossed the Rhine. He winced as he realized that the biggest loss would be the cut off of the supply of chocolate bars needed to bribe Schultz. _That could be a big problem._ "Well, gee, sir, that almost sounds like good news, since it must mean that the Allies are pushing east. The guys really count on their packages to help add to their meals. I hope this means that there'll be more to eat at the mess hall."

"Actually, it means the opposite, which brings me to problem number two. While we will continue to receive some supplies from Hammelburg, much of our outside supplies are not available for the time being. We'll have to make do with what we have but there will be severe cut-backs. Starting immediately, the mess hall will only be serving a noon meal."

"Kommandant! That's not fair!" protested Carter. "The Geneva Convention…"

"Yes, yes, it figures you'd know all about the Geneva Convention. You sound like Hogan." At the mention of the former Senior POW, Klink got distinctly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he continued on. "The Geneva Convention says we have to feed you. It doesn't say how much or how often. I've gone over the supplies list multiple times. With the quantities we have on hand, we can either carry on as we have been and hope to last a week, or cut back to one meal a day and extend that to two weeks. From what I've been told, I can pretty much guarantee you we won't be restocked through normal channels within a week."

Carter hung his head briefly, feeling a heavy weight decent upon his shoulders. _Jeepers, it isn't fair! My first command and look at the mess Colonel Hogan left for me!_ Carter knew he had very little experience managing people, except for the soda jerk at the drug store back home in Bullfrog which didn't really count, but now he had 700 guys depending on him. He knew he was going to struggle to keep things going the way things were before. He just didn't think he was going to be able to hold the camp together with all these problems Klink was suddenly bombarding him with.

"Well, you could let us escape; that would solve your problems," said Carter, with a hopeful smile, only half kidding. _I'll be the first one out the gate!_ he thought, wanting to get as far away from this blossoming catastrophe as possible.

Klink snorted and drew himself up imperiously. "Impossible! We have never had a successful escape from Stalag 13 and we are not about to start now! So you can just go back to your Escape Committee and tell them to forget it," he said, slapping his hand against the desk for emphasis.

"Which brings me to issue number three," said Klink. "I need you to put together a work detail for road repairs tomorrow."

"You can't make us work if we don't want to. That's in the Geneva Convention too. I don't think you have much to bargain with, so what's in it for us?" asked Carter. "You've already admitted that you can't get any more bread and I bet more writing paper is out as well. Another hour of electricity?"

"You've already got the lights on practically all day and night as it is!" exclaimed Klink. "How about some more firewood?" he countered.

"Gee, Colonel, the days are getting warmer so our wood supply is good right now. How about another hour in the Rec Hall? It would help keep the guys occupied since you won't be feeding them as often."

Mulling it over, Klink could see the benefit of that suggestion. And he wouldn't have to come up with something from his over-extended supplies. "Agreed. I'll expect the detail to report to Schultz at 08:00 hours tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Nope – I mean, no, sir. Although I think I should be asking you that question after dropping those three big bombshells on me. It's a heck of a first day on the job, boy – er, sir." replied Carter.

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you to keep the prisoners in line, do I Sergeant?" asked Klink. At Carter's shake of his head, he continued. "I didn't think so. Dismissed!" Klink snapped with a brief salute that would have done Hogan proud with its sloppiness.

Quickly rising, Carter returned a proper salute, and fled the office, grateful to escape before anything else could go wrong.

* * *

A/N: I can't quite figure out refrigeration in 1945. Refrigerators in general were not mass produced until after the war, which meant that most people still had iceboxes – way too messy for a hotel to consider putting in their apartment-style rooms as they had to be drained every day. The thing that has me puzzled is eggs. We refrigerate eggs constantly, yet I have war letters from my great-uncle thanking my grandmother for MAILING him eggs. Mail delivery wasn't as reliable during the war as it is now and yet eggs were eaten without being refrigerated for days? It's a wonder they all didn't die from salmonella poisoning!

For those that don't speak German, ß represents a double 's'. So straße is 'strasse', which means street; therefore Wilhelmstraße is basically William Street.


	10. Chapter 10: April 3, part 2

April 3, 1945

Hogan found the New Reich Chancellery with no difficulties. An imposing, newer building of brown brick with yellow brick highlights, it had a large stone carving of the German eagle with its wings spread wide over the entrance. Hitler himself had had it built in 1938, and it housed over 400 rooms, most for use by the Nazi Party.

Spryly dashing up the steps, Hogan entered the building and went up to the security desk in the center of the spacious lobby.

"Can I help you sir?" asked the lieutenant manning the security desk.

"Yes, I am Captain Erlich Strauss. My orders are to report here today, to Captain Hans Pfeiffer. He should be expecting me at 1300 hours," replied Hogan.

The lieutenant retrieved a clipboard from the counter behind him and perused the names on the list.

"Ja, I have you here Herr Captain. May I see your orders, bitte?"

Reaching into his tunic, Hogan withdrew the official packet of orders that Norbert had given him on the train. He watched impassively as the German read them carefully and thoroughly, replacing them in his pocket when the lieutenant was done.

Next, the lieutenant sorted through a stack of file folders that had been waiting near the clipboard. Choosing one, he laid it on the desk in front of himself and opened it. From the angle he was at, Hogan could see that it was the service record of Erlich Strauss, with his picture attached to the front page.

Satisfied Hogan was who he claimed to be, the lieutenant issued him a security badge he clipped to his front tunic pocket. It would allow Hogan access to anywhere in the building and let others know that he was authorized to be there.

The lieutenant briefed Hogan on the security procedures, including the handing-in of badges whenever leaving the building. In addition, Hogan would have to sign in and out.

The sound of boots clicking against the marble floors could be heard echoing through the hallway. Soon, a forty-ish looking man rounded the corner and entered the lobby from a short hallway on the right.

The officer stopped at the security desk, clicked his heels and gave the "Heil Hitler" salute. "Captain Strauss?" he asked.

Hogan returned the gesture. "Ja. Captain Pfeiffer, I presume?" replied Hogan.

"Ja." Pfeiffer smiled. "Welcome to Berlin. I'm afraid we don't have much time for a tour. For now, you just need to know that those halls over there," Pfeiffer indicated with a wave of his hand to the passages that led straight and left off the lobby, "are basically off-limits as they lead to the State Dining Room, Grand Ball Room, Reception Room and other formal rooms, including the Führer's private living area. You'll be down this hallway," Pfeiffer indicated the way he had come, "where the adjutant offices and communication center are. From this building we can issue orders to every soldier in the Reich." He started to walk as he talked, with Hogan trailing behind taking everything in.

The pair navigated through several halls, turning left and right, Pfeiffer stopping now and then for some explanations or to point out the use of specific rooms. They passed several people in their journey, sometimes pausing for introductions if it was an officer, usually passing by the unlisted men scurrying to carry out their superior's orders.

They reached a hall where each door opened to large rooms filled with desks. The doors were marked with the services of the Wehrmacht: Luftwaffe, Heer, and Kriegsmarine, as each branch had its own adjutant to the Führer. Pfeiffer entered the door marked SS.

A dozen or so desks were crowded into the room, all with men busy processing papers, either typing or writing by hand. Filing cabinets lined the far wall of the room. Two small offices were located in the back corner.

Pfeiffer led Hogan through the maze of desks, arriving at the offices in the rear. One was obviously Pfeiffer's. The other, Hogan found out, was for him.

Pfeiffer soon had Hogan learning the ropes – the office procedures, men he could call on to process orders and other paperwork, and the general day-to-day business that he would have to help look after. Hogan was glad that he had a good mind for detail, for remembering everything that Pfeiffer had said was overwhelming. Soon, Pfeiffer had duties that required his personal attention, so he left Hogan to settle into his office.

A few hours passed before there was knock on his door. At Hogan's acknowledgement, a soldier entered and stood at attention before his desk.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, Corporal?" replied Hogan, looking up from some papers the Pfeiffer had left on his desk to review.

"These new orders need a signature before they're released, but Captain Pfeiffer's still in the War Room with the Führer and his Chiefs. Can you sign for them, sir?" the Corporal asked, hesitantly holding out a clipboard with papers attached.

Taking the handout, Hogan quickly perused the orders and smothered his reaction to the contents.

"What happens to these orders next, Corporal?" asked Hogan as he continued to look over the paperwork.

"In this case, I need to deliver them to the adjutants in each of the branch offices down the hall. From there, each service will issue the orders to their headquarters who are responsible for distributing them to the field."

"Very good, Corporal. Would you mind if I delivered them myself? I'd like to become familiar with the process as well as introduce myself to the other adjutants."

"Certainly, sir. Thank you, sir." The Corporal saluted and left Hogan's office. Although a bit odd, if the Captain wanted to do the work himself, he wasn't going to stop him. He had enough work waiting on his desk that he wasn't concerned with handing off the delivery job.

It was either destiny or divine intervention that Hogan intercepted this particular order. Lady Luck was on his side as he realized it was also handwritten. Mentally thanking Newkirk, he quickly used some basic forging techniques picked up from his former team mate to alter the intent of the order on all the copies. Satisfied that it would pass inspection, Hogan added his assumed name to the bottom of each of the forms and headed out the door to deliver the Führer's latest order.

* * *

Carter scuffed his feet in the dirt of the compound as he trudged his way back to Barracks 2. His first official meeting with Klink was one to be remembered, and not in a good way. The news the Kommandant had shared did not bode well for the future of the camp. The cut-backs and unavailable supplies would impact every man in camp, and they were all his responsibility now.

He slunk into the barracks, half of himself hoping that the guys had been monitoring the coffee pot and listening to the predicament Klink dropped in his lap, the other half wishing that they hadn't, not knowing which would be better. Carter tried to slip onto his bunk to think without being noticed, but as soon as he came through the door, Newkirk and LeBeau were on him.

"Hey there Andrew, what'd old Klink 'ave to say?" asked Newkirk.

"Weren't you guys listening on the coffee pot?" Carter asked back without answering Peter's question.

"_Non, mon ami_. You didn't tell us to, so we figured we'd give you some privacy for your first meeting," said LeBeau. "Why the long face?"

Carter took his hat off and threw it on his bunk. Looking back and forth between his two best friends, he decided that he couldn't deal with this from his regular bunk. "I'll be in the Colonel's office."

Leaving dumbfounded looks on Newkirk and LeBeau's faces at being shut out so abruptly, Carter turned and walked into the small room where Hogan used to live. Closing the door, he sprawled out on the bottom bunk, shut his eyes, and pictured his favourite commanding officer. _What would the Colonel do?_ Carter thought.

"_I'd tell you to __stop wallowing in self-pity and come up with a plan to help the men."_

Carter sat up and stared at Colonel Hogan, who sat perched on the desk stool with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

"Are you really back?" Carter asked in hopeful awe.

"_Carter__, I haven't even been gone a full 24 hours yet. I'm a figment of your imagination. You wanted to know what I would do so you dreamed me up to help you out. Here I am; what do you want to know?"_ replied Hogan, leaning forward, hands on his knees.

Carter paused for a moment, unblinking, and then like a dam bursting, it all came tumbling out.

"I don't know what to do. Klink says the camp won't be getting any more food supplies or Red Cross packages. He's cutting us back to one meal a day. One meal! How are we supposed to live on one meal a day? And he still expects me to provide a work detail to fix the road. The guys aren't going to be happy with that. They're going to get upset, tensions will run high, and fights will break out, maybe a riot. Then Klink's men will start shooting and people will die and everyone's going to blame me cuz I'm suppose to be in charge but I don't know the first thing about being in charge. Like you said, I've been in command less than a day, and I can't even make sure there will be food on the table. I'm only a Tech Sarge. Why am I in charge of 700 men? They aren't going to listen to me, not like they listened to you, sir. You're an officer. You've had training on how to deal with stuff like this. We're trained to obey you – well people like you – officers, I mean. I can't believe you left me in this mess! Everything was perfect when you were here. Why did you have to go?"

Carter finally had to stop in his ranting to grab a few breaths. Hogan's chuckles worked their way through the haze of worry and despair that had clouded over Carter's mind.

"_You really have worked yourself into a state, haven't you?"_ Hogan's eyes twinkled from across the room as he shifted on the stool, hooking one heel on the crossbar. Hogan wrapped his arms around himself and continued, _"Know what I think? I think you need to calm down and take a few deep breaths for starters. Then you need to step back and look at the situation. Is it your fault the German's can't get their supplies through?"_

"No," replied Carter, wondering where his former CO was going with this.

"_Then the men won't blame you either. They might be angry at the situation and blow off some steam, but they know that it's not you who is blocking the supplies from arriving. Now, what can you do about the food situation__ to make it better?"_

"Not much. Klink's hands are tied," answered Carter.

"_That's Klink. Are you sure __you__ can't do anything? Push everything else aside and use that little part of your brain that is so good at figuring out formulas and equations. Harness your inner scientist. Treat this like an experiment. What's the problem? What's the expected outcome? How can you change the outcome? Are there any outside factors that could influence the results?"_ Hogan's prodding was making the wheels go round in Carter's head.

Suddenly, an idea popped into Carter's head. Crossing to the door, he opened it and leaned out around the doorframe. Taking a deep breath, he called, "I need a meeting with all the barracks chiefs. This is bigger than the team can handle. Let me know when everyone's here." Without waiting for acknowledgement, he ducked back inside and closed the door.

He turned back to the man at the desk. "I don't know if this will work or not, but thanks, Colonel."

"_You're welcome. Remember you aren't alone. Command is not a one-man show. How many times did I bounce ideas off you guys when we were in a pinch? Sometimes one little comment made as a joke could spawn the craziest of ideas – and they worked! Part of command is using the __talents of the men in your command, not just ordering them around. You can't be expected to know everything about everything. The final decision is yours, but all the ideas don't have to be. Use your men to the best of their abilities and they'll pay you back ten-fold. Mine did."_

"I'll try to remember that."

"Hey, who you talking to, Carter?" Baker asked as he leaned through the office door. "I thought you were alone in here."

Startled out of his thoughts, Carter watched Hogan give a little wave as he dissolved before Carter's eyes, back into his imagination. Giving a little cough, he replied, "Er, ah, no one, Baker. Just practising a few things I have to say. Is everyone here?"

"Yeah, we're waiting for you in the common room."

"Alright then. Be right there." Carter took one last look at the stool before following Baker out to the barracks room. They had a crisis to solve.

* * *

A/N: Hauptsturmführer Hans Pfeiffer was the SS adjutant to Hitler earlier in the war but not in 1945. While trying to find out more about him, I discovered a small footnote that the real Pfeiffer was transferred back to an active Panzer division and died in a blazing tank in Normandy between August 11 and August 14, 1944 (I couldn't pin down the precise date). However, I had already incorporated him into this story and I was unable to find the name of the person who replaced him. So for the purposes of this story, Pfeiffer is still alive. My description of him is fictional of course.

As for the Reich Chancellery, I have read many sources about its purpose, layout, usage, etc. Some portions I couldn't find any documentation on, such as the lobby and security procedures. In the end, it was easier to meld reality with what I needed as a story location, but I am trying to keep it as real as possible.

Wehrmacht is the general term for all the German Armed Forces, which is made up of the Luftwaffe (Air Force), Heer (Army), and Kreigsmarine (Navy). The SS was a separate entity of the Nazi Party with its own soldiers.


	11. Chapter 11: April 4

April 4, 1945

It was well into the wee hours of the morning, but the mountains of paperwork stacked in piles by priority across the large, antique desk did not seem to be diminishing in the least. General Albert Burkhalter, head of Luftwaffe Stalag Administration, had a scowl on his ruddy face as he read the latest orders received from the Reich Chancellery. The scowl was there because he didn't remember the order being issued as he received it.

Burkhalter was currently at Luftwaffe Headquarters in Berlin, and had in fact been in the War Room with the Führer when the original order had been issued. Not that he liked the order, or even agreed with it in principle; his only concern was obeying and avoiding Hitler's wrath at best, execution at worst. Noting the issuing officer was a 'Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss' rather than the regular adjutant Hans Pfeiffer, the General made a few inquiries as to who this new signature belonged to.

No office was ever unmanned, especially in Berlin. War was not a 9 to 5 job. Placing a call to the main switchboard at the Chancellery even at 2 a.m. got Burkhalter the answers he wanted to who this 'Strauss' was. Learning that everything was on the up-and-up, that Strauss was the new SS deputy adjutant, Burkhalter issued the order to all his Stalags with a great sense of relief. He guessed that the Führer had heeded his Chiefs' concerns after all, and changed his mind about ordering the mass execution of all interred POWs if a Stalag was faced with surrender to the liberating forces of the Allies.

* * *

The air was crisp and the breaths of the prisoners working on the road could be seen in the morning sunlight. A late winter snow had fallen overnight, but was quickly melting in the sunny patches of the woods and on the open road, turning the ground to mud in places. Birds returning after a long winter chirped happily in the forest beside the road and flittered through the branches.

The sun caught the edge of the shovel as one of the prisoners on the work detail moved a pile of dirt into a pothole. Carter paused in his work to give his back a break. As Senior POW Officer, he technically didn't have to do the manual labour, only supervise, but he'd always done his fair share on the work details and he wasn't about to change that now. Leaning on his own shovel, his thoughts returned to the barracks meeting from yesterday.

_Coming out of Hogan's office, Carter approached the central table and stood at the head near the barrel stove. The chiefs from all __the barracks were seated around the table, with his other team members sitting on nearby bunks. All were curious as to what had their new SPO in a dither._

"_Hey, guys, thanks for coming." Carter stopped, his nervousness halting all the things he needed to say from coming out of his mouth. He thought about all the German officers he had portrayed and how he would issue orders swiftly and surely. Standing a bit straighter, he continued._

"_We have a problem. Actually, it's more like a crisis right now but if we work together, we can hopefully minimize its impact to the camp._

"_You all know that I had a meeting with Klink after roll call this morning. He's been told that the Red Cross packages will probably not be arriving this month." As soon as the words left his mouth, the chiefs started rumbling amongst themselves, making comments about Klink keeping them for himself, ignoring the Geneva Convention, selling them on the black market, and some derogatory comments. The noise level rose and they paid no attention Carter's attempts to continue speaking._

"_Hey! I said, knock it off!" he yelled, thumping the table with a gloved fist. The men quieted down as they realized Carter meant business. Carter regained control of the meeting. "Boy!" he huffed. Calming down, he continued, "That's only a minor part of the problem. The worst is that all supply chains have been disrupted since the Allies crossed the Rhine. We aren't going to be getting resupplied with __anything__. That includes food." At the stunned silence that followed that announcement, Carter carried on. _

"_Klink has figured out how much we have left. If we cut back to one meal a day, we can stretch our food supply to two weeks. If we don't, we won't make it to a week and there is no way to be resupplied in that short length of time. He can't even guarantee that two weeks will be long enough."_

_The chiefs looked at each other around the table. Finally, Green__berg from Barracks 8 asked what they'd all been thinking. "So what do we do?"_

"_We pool our resources," replied Carter. "I want everyone to go back to their barracks and explain the situation. Gather everything everyone has left from their Red Cross packages and bring it here. We're going to combine whatever's left into one big stockpile. Then we can divide it up equally among all the prisoners. Some people may lose a couple of chocolate bars but in return they might gain a few extra cigarettes__ or whatever. We'll store everything in the Colonel's old office. _

"_The biggest thing to stress here is NO HORDING! The whole camp has to do this as a team to make this work. We'll ration the remaining foodstuffs as well. Have everyone turn in their packages before you tell them about the shortages, and hopefully we'll prevent a lot of bingeing and hording from taking place._

"_LeBeau, I want you to head up the supply committee, especially the food rationing. Newkirk, you help him look after the other items. Every morning after roll call, I want each of the barracks chiefs to report to LeBeau for their daily rations. You each can divide it out in your own huts. Anything not used by the end of the day gets returned to LeBeau for redistribution._

"_Baker, I want you to contact the local Underground. See if there are any additional foods that can be sent in from town. Klink is still getting some supplies from there, but I want you to see if we can get more. Any questions?"_

_Astonished __faces looked back at him._

"_Carter," said Newkirk, breaking the silence, "Did you come up with that all on your own?"_

"_Yeah," replied Carter, getting defensive. "Why? What's wrong with it?"_

"_Nothing, mate. It's bloody brilliant!"_

_At the praise voiced by the Englander, several of the barracks chiefs started banging the table and whistling in approval. Carter sagged in relief, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, a light blush creeping up his neck at the applause._

"_Uh, gee, thanks fellas, but there's one more thing. I need a volunteer from each barrack for a road repair detail tomorrow morning. I wrangled an extra hour of Rec Hall time from Klink for it, to keep us busy in the morning and evening since we won't be eating at the mess. Hope that's ok. It's not like Klink has any supplies to bargain with."_

_There was no major grumbling at this announcement, so Carter dismissed the chiefs, pleased at his first staff meeting._

Carter came back to the present. There had been no problems getting volunteers for the work detail. The rest of the day had been spent sorting Red Cross package remnants. Now Hogan's office looked like the supply depot at HQ. Boxes were stacked everywhere – the floor, the bunks, the desk. The first set of rations had been distributed this morning, and so far, the men were taking the shortages in stride.

Putting a few more shovelfuls of dirt into the holes and tamping them down, Carter saw Schultz being ever-vigilant: sitting on the front bumper of the camp truck, his rifle propped by his side, snoozing in the warmth of the early spring sun.

The shortages were going to be the hardest on the guards, as they had no Red Cross packages to get additional food from. Carter made a mental note to make sure Schultz and some of the nicer guards were slipped any extras that could be spared.

Many hands make light work and the road was finished before long, with everyone back at camp in time for the noon meal. Carter was helping LeBeau with the laundry after lunch when Baker came out of the barracks, blue piece of paper in hand.

Taking a quick look around to see if there were any German ears within hearing distance, Baker came over and said "Message from London."

Reaching out with a suds-covered hand, Carter took the slip of paper from Baker. Squinting at the scrawled message, he flicked his wrist to dislodge some of the frothy bubbles and immediate dropped the note into the laundry tub. Flustered, Carter quickly scooped out the soggy paper, trying to preserve the communiqué that was now virtually illegible.

Trying not to roll his eyes, Baker asked, "Why don't I just tell you what it said?"

"Uh, gee, yeah, that sure would be helpful," replied Carter, looking up at the radio man with an apologetic look on his face.

"The Allies are 200 clicks north of here and spreading eastwards. We've been advised to stay inside the wire. Sounds like things are pretty chaotic out there and London doesn't want us to risk any missions right now. We're to sit tight for the next 3 days, when we'll be updated on where things stand. Until then, we're to maintain radio silence."

"Sacre chats!" exclaimed LeBeau. Overhearing the Frenchman's expletive, Newkirk paused as he was walking by the trio beside the barracks.

"'ere, now! Wot's all the fuss about now?" he asked, pausing to light a cigarette.

"Word from London. The Allies are 200 km north of here. We're on radio silence for 3 days and not allowed outside the wire," summed up Baker.

"Crikie! We'll all go bloomin' stir-crazy in three days," he said, taking a long puff and blowing smoke into the air.

"It's not like we haven't had stand-down orders before, Pierre, and we've survived."

"Aye, but we didn't like it then, either." Newkirk knocked some ashes from the end of his cigarette. "Hey, Carter, what you thinking about? You haven't said a bleedin' word the whole time I's been standing 'ere."

Carter looked up at his long-time friend with something akin to fear and hope on his youthful face. He whispered, "What if we get to go home?"

* * *

Hogan was hard at work in Strauss' office when the news came in. The Allied forces, led by the US Third Army, had pushed the Western Front back past Gotha, and liberated the Ohrdruf Forced Labour Camp. The other office members of the SS were taking this as a hard blow, but Hogan was inwardly ecstatic. As he looked up where Gotha was on the map, he realized that there was now a band of Allied occupied territory between Berlin and Stalag 13. He worked out the distances and discovered Gotha was approximately 200 km northeast of Hammelburg.

It suddenly dawned on him that the liberation of Stalag 13 would likely happen before the war was over and long before he could get out of Berlin. Mixed feelings hit him hard: excitement that his men would finally be out of danger and get to go home; disappointment that he wouldn't be there to share in the celebrations; questions about what would happen with the shut-down of the organization; an unexpected concern over the fate of Klink and Schultz; a deep longing to be on friendly soil himself.

Until peace was declared, he nevertheless had his duty to do. He turned back to process another stack of papers, his thoughts still on his former men, imagining himself back at camp.

_He stood on the steps of the Kommandantur, Klink and Schultz beside him, waiting for the Allied arrival. Word had been sent from the Underground that the tanks were only 15 minutes away. The rumbling as they made their way through the surrounding area had been teasing the prisoners for days, but __was now markedly louder._

_Suddenly the head tank appeared on the dirt road leading to the camp. The guard towers were already abandoned; Klink planned on surrendering without a fight. At the sight of the tanks, the sentries opened the front gates, allowing them free passage into the compound. The lead tank halted in front of the Kommandantur and a US Army Major climbed out and saluted._

_The handover of Stalag 13 went peacefully. The prisoners broke out the supply of wine from the barracks and Klink's private collection. Everyone was partying, some singing, all relieved that the war was over and that they were prisoners no longer._

Hogan was snapped out of his reverie by a loud rapping on his office door.

"Are you ok, Strauss?" asked a concerned Hans Pfeiffer. "I've been knocking for a few minutes but you seemed miles away."

"Sorry, sir," said Hogan, straightening up in his chair. "Just reminiscing about a pretty frauline I left behind at my last posting," he covered with a grin.

"You have not had much chance to get to know Berlin, ja?" said Pfeiffer. "We both get off duty at 18:00. Let us have dinner together, and I will introduce you to one of the best taverns in town – good food, good music, good beer, even better women. We'll celebrate your new posting. It will be good to get out, get to know each other a little better."

Hogan had not wanted to establish any personal ties with the soldiers he was stationed with if possible, not knowing what actions he might have to take in the future. Add to that his sudden vague feeling of what you might call homesickness for Stalag 13, meant Hogan was less than enthused by Pfeiffer's suggestion. However, he was hardly in a position to protest his superior's _wunderbar_ idea. Pasting what he hoped passed as a willing smile on his face, Hogan reluctantly agreed to a night on the town.

* * *

A/N: Ohrdruf was a forced labour or death camp that was liberated on April 4, 1945, by members of the 4th Armoured Division and 89th Infantry Division of the US Third Army. It was the first concentration-type camp that was liberated by the Allies. General Eisenhower visited the camp on April 12th due to the extreme atrocities that were discovered there.

Gotha is pronounced **G****ō**'tă. It was on the southern edge of the former East Germany, whereas Hammelburg ended up in West Germany. When I was there 10 years ago, you could still see wide bare swaths of land through the forests on the outskirts of Gotha where the Wall use to run. I experienced a wide variety of emotions when I saw it and what it represented.


	12. Chapter 12: April 5

April 5, 1945

Hogan rolled over and opened one bleary eye. 5:42 read the clock on the bedside table. With a groan, he rolled back and tried to get comfortable again to go back to sleep. Somewhere beyond the muted drummer that had taken up residence in his head came the thought that the room was terribly bright for such an early time of the morning. In fact, he thought the sun should rise sometime around 06:30. Then there was the realization that he normally had to turn on a light to read the clock because of the blackout curtains keeping out the morning's rays.

He cautiously opened his eyes once more, squinting at the daylight coming in through the window due to its drapes standing wide open. He had obviously forgotten to close them when he got home last night. The light sent a stabbing pain through his head and he lay back with another deep groan.

_What the hell had happened to him?_ wondered Hogan, drawing a blank over the events of the night before. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his tongue thick and dry against its roof. Bit by bit, he started to recall brief images of his night on the town. _Pfeiffer… dinner… beer… a pretty waitress… conversation… more beer… a name – Liesl?... music… another beer… laughter… dancing?... one last beer… needing to get home before curfew… How had he allowed himself to get hung-over?_

It was simple really. Pfeiffer wanted to celebrate Strauss' arrival in Berlin and kept plying him with drinks. Hogan's mind was still back at Stalag 13 and his body was not used to handling copious amounts of alcohol like when he was younger. Pinching the odd schnapps from Klink didn't lend itself to fending off the consequences of several beers. He thought he had paced himself. The slight buzz had felt good, relaxing him and relieving some stress, and yet he knew he wasn't drunk enough to let his tongue slip something important.

Pfeiffer was an interesting man. A former tank driver, he had seen action earlier in the war before his transfer to Berlin. Hogan found himself liking the German, much to his chagrin – they were close in age, had a similar sense of humour, and were still bachelors but had their choice of women. They had spent several hours trading anecdotes from childhood and their time in the military. Hogan had begun by keeping to the made-up stuff in Strauss' dossier but soon found himself adding little tidbits that were part of his real life. The discussion on his 7 year old motorcycle back home lasted almost an hour.

Hogan rolled over and looked at the clock once more. 5:42. Hogan puzzled at this for a long moment and then lay there staring at the clock, watching and waiting. 5:42. It didn't move. He picked up the clock, listened, and discovered it wasn't ticking. He had forgotten to wind it.

Dropping it back down on the table with a clunk, he wondered what time it was and if he really cared. He would have to get up to check his watch, which was across the room on the dresser. Steeling himself, he slowly sat up and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, then worked himself to a standing position. He took a few uncoordinated steps to the dresser and snatched up the timepiece. 9:18. _Crap!_ Hogan was fully awake now – he had to be back on duty at the Reich Chancellery for 10:00.

Spurring himself on, he quickly shed his pajamas, thankful that he had his own private bath, and hopped into the shower. He gave his body the once-over with the bar of soap to get rid of the stench of beer and cigarettes that were clinging to him. He lathered up his hair and quickly rinsed, finishing in less than ten minutes. How he would have loved to stay under the warm, soothing spray a while longer!

Climbing out, he swiftly toweled off, wrapping it around his narrow hips. He swiped the steam from the mirror over the sink and foamed his shave cream, covering his cheeks with white froth. Hogan grabbed his razor and removed all the suds, being extra careful not to nick himself in his haste. Finishing up, he ran his toothbrush over his teeth before hanging the towel up to dry on the hook behind the door.

Hogan quickly dressed, fingers nimbly doing up the buttons on his SS uniform before he rammed his feet into his jackboots. Twenty minutes from the time he got up, he was dashing down the stairs to the hotel lobby, head lightly throbbing in time to each step he pounded down.

Brigitta spotted him from where she was waiting tables in the hotel restaurant and gave him a small wave. Hogan checked his watch and found he had twenty minutes remaining before his duty shift. Knowing it only took him ten minutes to walk, he decided to pop into the café for a cup of coffee which would help clear the remnants of his hangover. He didn't think much would sit well in his stomach.

"Herr Captain Strauss, what a pleasure it is to see you this morning," Brigitta greeted him at the entranceway. She escorted him to an empty table and poured him a cup of coffee. "Can I get you anything for breakfast?"

"No thank you, Brigitta. I am running very late this morning but have a great need for coffee. I'll grab something to eat at work when I feel up to it."

"Are you not feeling well, Herr Captain?" she asked with concern.

"Out somewhat late, with a little too much to drink is all," Hogan assured her, touched by her interest.

"Then I will get you some ASA for your head along with your coffee," she said and quickly disappeared into the back before Hogan could protest.

Brigitta reappeared minutes later, carrying two white tablets. She placed them by Hogan's coffee cup and gave him a smile in reply to his thanks as she went to answer the call from another table.

Hogan contemplated the tablets. He wasn't one to take medication readily and he wasn't a hundred percent sure of the source. While he trusted Brigitta somewhat, he had not known her very long and the pills could have been compromised, with or without Brigitta being aware. He decided to pocket the drugs so that Brigitta wouldn't be offended and hope that the coffee and fresh air would finish clearing his head. If all else failed, there was likely a staff doctor at the Chancellery that would provide a safer source of medication.

Checking his watch once more, he downed the rest of the coffee, draining his cup. He pulled out a couple of marks and left it on the table for Brigitta, and then rushed out the door to work.

Hogan could tell it was going to be a very long day. He only hoped Pfeiffer was suffering too.

* * *

"Ok, how about this one? Number 1190: _Jim –_ 'What's the best thing for hives?' _Sim –_ 'Bees.'" Carter looked up from his joke book to see the reaction to his latest offering. Not getting more than one or two groans and a couple of eye-rolls, he flipped through the pages. "Oh, here's a good one! Number 368: 'Your wife drives like lightning, doesn't she?' 'Yes – always striking trees.'"

"Carter, it's not that we don't appreciate a little humour, but you're drivin' me balmy, right round the bend, crackers, you are," said Newkirk. "I think you've read the entire bleedin' book to us at least twice today!"

"Well sorry for trying to take everyone's mind off everything. You said yourself your eyes were going square playing cards so much."

"It's not my bloomin' fault that it's raining cats and dogs out there!"

"I never said it was!"

"Cut it out you two! We're all going a little… _je ne sais pas…_ stir crazy, _oui_? Maybe you could help out a little around here," said LeBeau, mixing a large pot on the stove.

"What did you have in mind, Louie?" asked Carter, curiously approaching the Frenchman.

"Someone needs to check the Colonel's room to make sure the roof's not leaking again and spoiling our stores. There's a basket of mending over there that needs done. I could use some help with this soap making in a few minutes. The monthly inventory of ammunition and sabotage supplies is overdue. The uniforms in the tunnels need a going over for cleaning and spot repair. The firewood bucket needs refilled. And that's just for starters! I swear I'm the only one who does any work around here," groused LeBeau.

"Oh, man, you know I'm still not good at mending. I'll go check the office though," said Carter, heading towards the closed door and then disappearing inside.

Newkirk got up from the table. "And I'll get a start on the inventory. Come on, Olson, it goes faster with two," he said heading to the bunk with the tunnel entrance.

Happy that some of his workload was being done by other people, LeBeau went back to his pot, humming a lively French folksong.

Carter was just returning from the office when Schultz came through the barracks door.

"Hey, Schultzie, you're dripping all over my floor!" exclaimed LeBeau, running over to grab a mop.

"Sorry about that cockroach. It is rather wet outside." Schultz gave a large sneeze and blew his nose in his handkerchief.

"Boy, I'll say," agreed Carter. "The thunder just keeps rolling and rolling. I didn't realize it in here, but it's louder in the Colonel's office. That's ok, by the way," he said to LeBeau. "No leaks." LeBeau nodded his thanks.

"Carter, there is no thunder," said Schultz. "That's artillery fire. I recognize it from the first war. The front is moving closer."

Carter looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide as if he expected a tank to come through the wall right this instant. LeBeau smiled at his reaction and moved to put the mop away. Schultz meanwhile started sniffing the air.

"Oh, LeBeau, what is that heavenly smell?" he asked, moving towards the stove. Lifting the lid on the pot, he peered in at what it contained. "This rationing is doing me no good. I've been so hungry and I've had to tighten my belt two notches already!" The creamy liquid bubbled inside the pot. Grabbing the spoon, he quickly helped himself to a mouthful, careful not to burn himself. "_Wunderbar_!" he said, smacking his lips.

LeBeau swiftly dashed over and took the spoon out of Schultz's hand. "_Imbicile!_ That's soap not some gourmet meal!"

"Soap? But-but-but-but it smells like something edible." Schultz looked at the pot wistfully.

"That's because it's beef fat that I'm turning into tallow, which I'll then turn into soap!" explained LeBeau.

"I still think we should eat it now," grumbled Schultz, whose belly grumbled along with him.

"Here Schultz," said Carter, offering him a small tin that he had fetched from the Colonel's office.

"_Was ist das_?" asked Schultz.

"It's a can of sardines. Had them left in my Red Cross package. I hate the darn things," replied Carter with a shiver.

"Ah, Carter, _danke_. You are such good boys to look out for me."

"No problem. Now you'd better get back to your rounds," said Carter, hoping to get rid of Schultz before he realized that Newkirk and Olson were absent.

"Ja," agreed Schultz, heading towards the door.

"Hey, LeBeau, what was next on your list?"

* * *

The rain had let up by mid-afternoon, but the rumbling of artillery in the distance seemed to be louder. Afternoon roll call was held outside in the puddles and mud that coated the compound. By evening, the sounds of battle could be heard quite clearly and all night, the flashes from exploding shells lit up the cloud-covered sky. The noise and the anticipation kept everyone awake, both prisoner and German alike.

* * *

A/N: Carter's jokes come from _2500 Jokes for All Occasions_, by Powers Moulton, © 1942. I bought it at a yard sale for a quarter. When I saw it, I immediately thought of Carter and figured I'd use it in a fan fic someday – the clean ones anyway! Most of them are so politically incorrect for today's world that I'd be sure to offend any readers if I included them.


	13. Chapter 13: April 6

April 6, 1945

Colonel Francis J. Gillespie, Commander of Combat Command B of the US 14th Armored Division, rode in his peep along the dirt roads of Germany. The maps told him he was somewhere near a village called Hammelburg, although one town was beginning to look like the next to him as his troops moved swiftly across the countryside, pushing back the German lines.

They had the Germans on the run now, although he suspected they would dig in again and reform once past the little town nestled in the rolling foothills of the Alps. Intelligence had informed them there was a Luftwaffe Stalag near the town and his primary mission now was to liberate the POWs. The infantry had gone ahead to clear the town and establish a command post, along with the field artillery which were too powerful to use in close quarters with friendlies in the area.

The road was surprisingly good, showing indications it had been repaired fairly recently, probably through forced labour by the camp Kommandant. This was the first camp they were to have the honour of freeing and Gillespie was uncertain as to what he would find. What kind of conditions had these men been forced to endure? What condition were the men themselves in? Rumours and propaganda had circulated like wildfire about German camps, especially since Orhdruf had been liberated, but the Colonel only listened with half an ear, knowing how tales were exaggerated as they were retold. However, Intelligence also said that this was Luft Stalag 13, the only camp with zero successful escapes. Gillespie wondered what that meant for the men imprisoned there. No matter, it wouldn't be long before he found out first hand. Now that his troops were so close, he was determined the Allied prisoners would be free by sundown.

The trees of the surrounding forest thinned as towers and barbwire fences became visible through the branches. Gillespie halted the procession of tanks and vehicles outside of machine gun range of the camp, pausing to see what kind of reaction there would be to their sudden appearance.

Looking through his binoculars, Gillespie watched the gate guards scurrying back and forth, finally running over to an older, rather rotund guard who had managed to waddle and puff his way towards the front gates. After the one guard saluted and reported to the large guard, the large one could be seen dropping his rifle, pointing down the road, turning around in circles, pointing again, grasping his helmet with both hands, and finally barreling as fast as he could toward one of the camp buildings with stairs and a porch on the front.

Taking a look around the camp, Gillespie could see no prisoners in the compound. He noted several manned guard towers, the closest ones with machine guns pointed his way. The gates to the Stalag remained shut, although the Colonel knew they wouldn't withstand the force of the tank behind him patiently waiting for orders. Movement on the porch of the building where the portly guard had disappeared caught his attention.

Another man had joined the guard out front. This German wore an officer's long coat, Luftwaffe cover, and appeared to be wearing a monocle. A riding crop was stuffed under one arm, grasped by a gloved hand. Gillespie assumed this to be the camp Kommandant, or one of its higher-ranked officers. The officer pointed towards one of the huts across the compound and the big guard once again took off across the camp. The officer was fidgeting on the top step of the porch, feet shuffling as he waited. Gillespie didn't think it was from the cold.

Finally, the guard reappeared with a single prisoner following. The prisoner, much younger than either of the Germans, was dressed in a well-worn leather coat with sheepskin lining and matching cap – obviously an American flyer. He trailed behind the guard, hands in his pockets, almost dragging his feet. The officer met them half-way between the two buildings. The prisoner stopped before the officer and offered a salute, which was briskly returned. The young American kept his head down and scuffed one boot in the dirt as the men had a brief conversation before they turned and started to walk towards the main gates.

Gillespie wondered if all the prisoners in this camp were so cowed before their German captors. A small flame of anger burned at the apparent mistreatment of the Allied forces. The Colonel quickly squashed it, knowing that appearances may be deceiving. He was a seasoned officer and would wait to see for himself what the conditions were inside the camp. Drawing conclusions might cause a rash reaction that could lead to devastating consequences. He wanted no friendly fire accidents or enemy massacres to happen, not on his watch.

The men from the camp had reached the gates by now. The gate guards opened them wide enough for the party of three to pass through before closing them behind. The group advanced until they were about half way between Gillespie's peep and the gates, still within range of the tower guns.

"Hold your fire," Gillespie ordered, perhaps redundantly but he wanted no mistakes to happen during this critical point. The tension was palatable.

The Colonel lowered his binoculars and handed them to another soldier in his vehicle. He let the little party from the Stalag stand waiting for several minutes as he appraised the situation. He decided that they didn't appear to be a threat. The large guard, a Sergeant he could see now, hadn't even retrieved his rifle from where he dropped it in the compound. The officer, also a Colonel, did not appear to be armed either. If he was, it was concealed under the buttoned-up coat and would never be drawn in time to be used, if that was his intent. The prisoner of course, could never have been armed.

Gillespie climbed out of his vehicle and indicated that his second-in-command should follow. The two Americans approached the waiting trio and halted a few feet away. The German officer took one step forward, clicked his heels and gave a little bow. What he did next, Gillespie was totally unprepared for.

"Welcome to Stalag 13, the toughest POW camp in all of Germany!" The German officer preened. "I'm Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the camp Kommandant. This is Sergeant of the Guards, Hans Schultz, and the Senior POW Officer, Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter." He indicated the men on his left and right. "We've never had a successful escape!" Klink continued to boast.

"Uh, Kommandant, you might not want to brag about that to him," said Carter. "He's got a bunch of tanks pointed at you and you're not exactly on his side, if you know what I mean."

Suddenly realizing what he'd said and how it sounded, Klink got flustered and quickly tried to back-pedal. "That is to say…I, er, ah…what I meant to say was…"

Cutting the floundering German colonel off, Gillespie interrupted. "I am Colonel Francis Gillespie, Commander of Combat Command B, US 14th Armored Division. This is my second-in-command, Major Joe Sullivan. We're here to advise you that the front line has passed by this camp and you are now in Allied territory. What is your intent in regards to defending this Stalag?"

"Defend? Ha, ha! Colonel Gillespie, I assure you we have absolutely _nooo_ intention of fighting over this Stalag. _My_ Stalag is _your_ Stalag. I'm sure you'll find your stay here most pleasant." Klink turned. "Schultz! Call down the tower guards and have all the men form up in front of their barracks."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," said Schultz saluting Klink and then the Americans before running off to carry out his orders, bellowing commands as he went.

"You see? Everything's in order. Do you wish to come inside? I'm sure we can round up some refreshments for you and your men. You must be parched from the dusty road," gushed Klink, beginning to fall all over himself like he did when Burkhalter visited.

Gillespie and Sullivan exchanged bewildered looks. This wasn't quite how they had pictured this happening. The German guards were coming down from the towers, stacking their weapons by the fence and forming up near a group of huts to the side of the camp. Still no prisoners had appeared, other than the Sergeant who had been introduced as the SPO. The Kommandant was inviting them in for afternoon tea like he was running a hotel!

Deciding he needed to take charge before all grasp on reality slipped away, Gillespie began issuing orders.

"Major, assign some men to confine the guards to their barracks. Colonel Klink is to be held in the cooler. Perform a thorough search for all firearms and other weapons. I want this camp secured. Bring a couple of the peeps and tanks into the compound as well."

At the Colonel's words, Carter blanched and his eye's turned round. "Excuse me, sir?" he said, interrupting Gillespie's orders. "May I have a word," he paused, flicking a glance at Klink, "in private?"

Gillespie raised an eyebrow at the unusual request. Things were a little bit odd at this camp, that was for sure. Indicating Sullivan should go ahead, he stepped to the side of the road out of earshot of Klink. Carter joined him.

"What's up, Sergeant?" Gillespie asked gruffly.

"You can't bring the tanks into camp, sir," replied Carter.

"Why ever not?" Gillespie's curiosity was certainly piqued now.

"Off the record?" asked Carter with a beseeching look on his face.

"Off the…! Of all the ludicrous things to ask. Sergeant, why can't I bring a few tanks into the camp?" Gillespie was getting angry now, feeling somewhat off-kilter by the Sergeant's antics. His voice began to climb in volume.

"Keep your voice down, please, sir," pleaded Carter. "It's just that the German's don't know and I don't know who's allowed to know, and I don't know if you've got enough clearance. Sir."

"I'll ask you one last time, Sergeant. What's so damn important that I can't bring a few tanks into the camp? There's certainly enough room!"

"Not clearance as in space, sir. Security clearance," explained Carter with an apologetic look.

"Security clearance? For a POW camp?" Gillespie felt a headache forming. He distinctly remembered thinking this morning how much he was looking forward to freeing these men.

"Begging the Colonel's pardon, sir, but I have no choice but to trust you. But this has to be off the record, need to know, can't tell anyone else. You cannot bring the tanks into camp. They're too heavy."

"Too heavy for what, Sergeant?"

"The tunnels, sir. The weight may collapse them."

"I don't understand. What tunnels? You don't need escape tunnels now." Gillespie was at a loss. He was beginning to wish he hadn't heard of Stalag 13.

"We have an extensive network of tunnels under this camp for purposes other than escape. I cannot tell you why right now. All you need to know is that it's top secret. But in the mean time, I can't risk damage to the tunnels by the weight of your tanks driving all over the compound. Some areas are ok, but we'd have to give you a map, and like I said, sir, it's top secret so I can't let you tell your tank drivers about the tunnels. Please just leave them outside on the road." Carter was close to begging.

"On the road," repeated the Colonel. He rubbed his forehead under his helmet, considering what he'd just been told. The liberation was going smoothly with no opposition from the enemy forces, so he supposed it wouldn't hurt to humour the man. Sighing, he called out, "Sullivan! Keep the tanks here! Only peeps to go into the compound!"

Sullivan's acknowledgement was heard in the distance.

"Satisfied, Sergeant?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir," said Carter, pleased the Colonel had listened to him.

"Glad I could help." Gillespie snorted. "Let's get this show on the road, gentlemen!" he shouted, climbing into his peep. Carter hopped onto the hood. The driver put the vehicle in gear and they rolled towards the main gates, which now stood wide open.

As the half dozen peeps came to a halt in the compound, the doors to the barracks flew open and the now-free men of Stalag 13 rushed to greet their liberators. The peeps were surrounded with a mass of rejoicing men. Backs were slapped, hugs were shared, a few tears were shed, and at one point Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau were hoisted above the crowd and passed along hand by hand.

Celebrations continued for hours. LeBeau brought out all the bottles of wine that had been stored in the tunnels. A bonfire was lit in the center of the compound. The Nazi flags were taken down from the flag pole/radio antenna and guard towers and tossed into the hungry flames to the thunderous cheers of the Allied men.

Someone started singing "The White Cliffs of Dover". Soon the entire camp was gathered around, singing and swaying arm-in-arm around the fire. Emotions were running high. Hearts were filled with camaraderie.

They were still in Germany, the war still raged on, and the fate of the operation was unknown.

But they were free. Oh yes, they were finally free.

* * *

A/N: The 14th Armored Division, known as the "Liberators" for the number of prison camps they freed, has their own website (www(.)14tharmoreddivision(.)org). It has a very moving article on the liberation of the Stalag at Moosburg. This is also where I got Gillespie's name and rank. His characterization is my own. Major Sullivan however belongs to me.

Peep is not a typo. Jeeps were more commonly called Peeps at that time by the Americans. Other war nicknames the vehicles had were 'pygmys' and 'blitz-buggies'. The origin of the word 'jeep' in relation to the vehicle is much debated. The term 'jeep' was used by soldiers to describe a piece of untested machinery or equipment. One story has a test driver informing the media that the vehicle was a 'jeep', meaning still being tested, but the term was published as the name of the vehicle and stuck. Another story has the vehicle bearing the designation 'GP' for 'Government Purpose' or 'General Purpose'. GP was slurred to be jeep. A third story relates the vehicle to the character Eugene the Jeep from Popeye cartoons who could go anywhere, much like these new vehicles.


	14. Chapter 14: April 7

April 7, 1945

"Baby Bear to Goldilocks, Baby Bear to Goldilocks. Do you read, Goldilocks? Over." Carter paused, waiting for an answer to his call to London. Their three days of radio silence had passed and it was time to check in.

"Goldilocks here, Baby Bear. How goes the porridge? Over," came the static-filled reply.

"Porridge is eaten, Goldilocks, over," replied Carter. He covered the microphone with his hand. "Hey Baker, who makes up these codes anyway?"

Baker shrugged. He had long-ago given up trying to make heads or tails of the code book, just memorized it.

"Say again, Baby Bear? Over," came Goldilocks' puzzled reply.

"Porridge is eaten, Goldilocks. 14th Armored Division now in control, over." Carter waited patiently as his words were carried to London.

"I say, that does put a spanner in the gears. We'll get back to you at 19:00. Goldilocks, out." London severed the connection.

Carter put down the microphone with a thunk and took off the earphones.

"Well how do ya like that? They wanted to know how the war was going, I tell them we were liberated, and they hung up on me!" Carter fumed. "Something about a spanner and gears…" he continued, scratching his head.

"Like a wrench in the works?" asked Baker.

"Yeah, that sounds better," Carter said, brightening. "Anyway, they're calling back at 19:00. I think they were surprised. Something tells me they weren't planning on us being freed yesterday."

"You're probably right. Now they have to decide what to do with the operation, and the war's not over yet. Kind of useless running an Allied sabotage unit from within Allied territory."

"I'll say, boy. Kinda dumb to blow up your own stuff. Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what they say."

* * *

The time until the next check-in with London passed quickly. Colonel Gillespie was occupied with going through the camp records, inventorying what was available, communicating with his headquarters, and seeing to the well-being of the former prisoners.

The former prisoners were being interviewed to provide statements on their treatment by their German captors and how well they conformed to the Geneva Convention. These statements would determine what would happen with Colonel Klink and his staff once the war was over.

Generally, the condition of the Allied prisoners surprised Gillespie. Although he had discovered the rations had recently been cut, sickness from starvation had yet to set in amongst the camp residents. This meant he didn't have to leave very many of his own men behind to take charge of the camp; the former prisoners could now become guards for the German camp staff and guards who were now under arrest. A convoy of supply trucks was arranged to bring in some extra C rations to supplement the camp's dwindling food supply until the camp was evacuated.

Gillespie couldn't remain at Stalag 13. His battle group needed to keep pushing the Germans back. The Colonel received word from Hammelburg that the town had been secured and the rest of the division was already on the move in the direction of Moosburg.

Feeling things were under control and would remain that way, Gillespie pulled out with all his tanks and the majority of his troops. Major Sullivan was left in command along with ten lower ranked officers assigned as his aide-de-camps, and fifty others who would remain as guards. The Colonel also left a half-track tank, two peeps, and some radio equipment.

Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau and the barracks chiefs were kept busy all day by Sullivan and his aides. At five minutes to seven, Baker had to pull Carter away and remind him of what time it was. Both men hurried to the tunnel to see what the word was from London.

"Goldilocks calling Baby Bear, Goldilocks calling Baby Bear. Do you read, Baby Bear? Over." The radio came to life precisely at 19:00 with London's call.

"We read you, Goldilocks. Stand by for Baby Bear, over." Baker's smooth baritone acknowledged the connection. He handed over the microphone and headset to Carter. Carter fumbled with the headset before getting it settled over his ears and picked up the microphone.

"Baby Bear here. Standing by, over."

"Confirmed porridge is eaten. Congratulations. What is status of bed, Baby Bear? Over."

Carter rolled his eyes. At least London agreed they'd been liberated. _No kidding!_ He thought for a moment about the second portion of the message before remembering 'bed' was the code name for the operation.

"Bed is just right, Goldilocks." _Operation is still secret_. "Had to tell big bird of 14th" (_Colonel Gillespie)_ "not to bring his…" Carter turned to Baker for the code name for tanks. "…er…elephants to the tea party?…" At Baker's nod that Carter had used the right term for camp, he continued, "…due to, um, rabbit holes." _Yep, that was the term for tunnels. Geesh, could this get any cornier?_ "His ears only, Goldilocks. 14th big bird and elephants have moved on. Left gold leaf"_ (Major)_ "in command. Awaiting instructions, over."

Carter wiped the sweat from his forehead. He wasn't cut out for this kind of secret stuff. It was way too confusing.

"Preserve bed at all costs, Baby Bear, but close the hotel for now. Details must not leak out before everyone's porridge is eaten. Most guests at tea party will be returning here, details to follow. Tea party hosts to remain in custody. Goldleaf remaining as Mad Hatter for now. More information coming at next check-in, over." _Keep Operation secret at all costs and shut down all operations temporarily. Details must not leak out before the war is over for everyone. Former prisoners to be returned to England, details to follow. Germans to remain in custody. Major Sullivan to remain in charge of the camp._

"Acknowledged Goldilocks. Over and out," responded Carter. He handed the radio equipment to Baker, who began to shut down the machine.

"Well, what'd they say?" asked Baker.

"Let's get Newkirk and LeBeau and then I can tell you all together," answered Carter, turning to exit the radio room.

"No need for that," came the voice of Newkirk as he entered the main room of the tunnel with LeBeau on his heels. "We's right 'ere. Figured you'd 'ave news by now, so we'd see what the word was."

"We're to shut down the operation for now, and to keep it a secret at all costs; so spread the word Major Sullivan and his staff are not to hear anything about it, ok?" said Carter.

"_Oui_, we'll see the word gets around. What about the tunnels?" asked LeBeau.

"We'll lock all the access points, except the one under the bunk. Nobody from the other barracks should need to use them anymore. We mostly used them at night when we weren't allowed into the compound," replied Carter.

""ow's about the fence exit? Any chance o' that bein' discovered?" asked Newkirk.

"Oh, yeah, good thinking. We haven't used it for so long, I'd forgotten about it. Better have somebody check it and nail it shut, at least temporarily," said Carter.

There was a long pause as conversation came to an awkward halt. The team looked around at each other, all thinking the same thing, but no one was voicing their feelings.

"It don't feel quite right, does it mates?" said Newkirk quietly. He was rocking on his heels with his hands stuffed in his pants pockets.

"_Non, mes amis_, it does not," agreed LeBeau, who was standing with his arms crossed.

"Wonder what he's doing right now?" mused Baker as he finished shutting down the radio. Everyone knew he was talking about Colonel Hogan.

"Oh well likely he's out on the town, having some beer and a fancy dinner, dancing with some pretty girls…" Carter started one of his trademark long-winded speeches but stopped when he realized it wasn't cheering up anyone. "…or he's moping in his room because he misses us too."

"Do you think 'e knows?" asked Newkirk, referring to the liberation.

"_Mais oui,_ I think _le_ _Colonel_ will be doing his best to keep an eye on us, even from as far away as Berlin," answered LeBeau.

"Wish we could keep an eye on him too," said Carter wistfully. "You know, if he'd just send us a postcard…"

"Carter!" Newkirk swiped Carter's hat off his head and hit him with it before handing it back.

"Alright, alright, I know! Golly gee, a guy tries to be funny around here…" ranted Carter, putting his hat back on.

"Don't give up your day job," broke in Baker with a smile. Newkirk and LeBeau both chuckled and Carter grinned, knowing he'd done his job – restoring moral.

"Did London say anything else?" asked LeBeau.

"Um, well, Klink and the guards are going to be kept here. Guess they're the new prisoners of Stalag 13, with Major Sullivan the Commandant. London said most of the rest of us were going to be sent back to England, possibly for reassignment."

"Any idea of when?" asked Baker.

"Nope. They said there might be more details at our next check-in."

"Oh, yippee, more bloomin' waitin'. Gents, I do believe we're in for a lot of borin' days ahead."

Everyone agreed.

* * *

Hogan tossed and turned in his bed, unable to settle, sleep eluding him. The last few days since his dinner with Pfeiffer had been rather dull, processing paperwork, answering questions, and other mundane office tasks. Nothing he could manipulate had crossed his desk. He was beginning to get discouraged with his assignment, feeling he wasn't contributing anything to his side of the war. He had never really learned the patience necessary to carry out a long term undercover like this. The schemes involved in carrying out missions at camp were fast-paced, often only taking a few hours to a couple of days from start to completion. How many times had Abwehr Major Teppel, aka Robert Morrison of Milwaukee, felt like things weren't happening fast enough, that he wasn't doing enough? Hogan remembered when he had learned Teppel's true identity how he thought he would never be able to handle an assignment like Morrison's, and yet here he was living it. Hogan wondered what happened to Morrison when the Abwehr was disbanded in February of '44. Hopefully he'd been allowed to have his US Citizenship back.

Hogan had needed to get away from his desk and mentally regroup, so he had taken a walk around the numerous corridors of the Chancellery. Purely by chance, he had been passing the two Luftwaffe adjutants who were talking in the hall. Slowing as he neared, ears always alert, Hogan had happened to catch one key phrase in their conversation: 'Stalag 13'. He stopped and quickly inserted himself in the discussion.

"_Excuse me, did I overhear you say Stalag 13?" asked Hogan, an innocent and mildly curious __look on his face._

"_Ja. We were just discussing its status," replied the first Hauptmann._

"_Don't tell me they lost their record of zero escapes!" exclaimed Hogan, expressing just the right amount of shock and concern at the possibility._

"_Nein. Well, maybe, if you consider they've all escaped in a way!" the second Hauptmann chuckled._

"_I'm afraid I don't follow…" said Hogan, wrinkling his forehead, hoping to get more details on what was going on back 'home'._

"_It's not funny, Fr__iedrich. The Allies are taking more ground each day and we are not pushing them back in their place where they belong," chastised the first Captain. Turning to Hogan, he explained, "Stalag 13 had the dubious honour of being liberated by the Allied forces yesterday. So what Friedrich thinks is so funny is that the only way the prisoners could escape was to have outside help!"_

"_Sounds like things aren't going too well for the Luftwaffe," replied Hogan._

"_Well, I wouldn't talk. You've already lost Ohrdruf and it looks like their headed to your precious Moosburg next! Come on Friedrich, break time's over. We're late to be back at our desks. Heil Hitler!"_

Hogan flipped onto his back, one arm flung over his forehead, and stared up at the ceiling he couldn't see in the dark. Stalag 13 had been liberated yesterday. He had missed it by five days. Five lousy, short, measly days, thanks in part to the no-good, dirty rotten, conniving Colonel Norbert. Hogan's fist pounded the mattress in a futile attempt to vent his frustration.

Had London known when they approved the mission? Hogan wasn't sure. They could have waited until the camp was liberated and he could have been easily reassigned. But then there would have been questions when he failed to appear in London after such a long internment. In his insomnia, his mind tossed about various scenarios, each one leading back to the fact that his 'death' may still have been necessary regardless.

Turning to his side, Hogan punched his pillow to fluff it, flopped back down and once again tried to sleep, but his thoughts spun away to his men. Was everyone safe? Had Klink the sense to surrender peacefully? Had the liberators taken the camp by force? Had the phoney orders he manipulated protected the prisoners? Worst-case scenarios filled his mind, fuelled by an over-active and over-tired imagination.

Hogan was finally drifting close to sleep when a sudden thought entered his mind, causing him to sit up, wide awake once more. Dare he try to contact the camp? The idea broke every standard procedure for being undercover, yet he had no orders _not_ to contact them. He'd berated Carter for asking for a postcard, although he knew it was Carter's way of lightening the mood, and now he was contemplating contacting them in person. _I must be crazy!_ But the thought of planning such a stunt and getting away with it brought a glint to his eye that had been missing since he left Stalag 13.

Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

A/N: Major Teppel appeared in Episode 103: Bad Day in Berlin, 1969

There were 5 types of rations in use by the US during WW2.

A-rations were foods that were fresh, frozen or refrigerated and had to be prepared.

B-rations were packaged food that had to be prepared in a mess hall or field kitchen but required no refrigeration.

C-rations were canned foods that were already prepared and pre-cooked. The "M" unit can contained one of only three variations of the main course: meat and beans, meat and potato hash, or meat and vegetable stew. Dessert was in the "B" unit can, typically being 3 biscuits and a chunk of chocolate. The rations completed with a third can (accessory pack) containing instant coffee, sugar cubes, water purification tablets, chewing gum, cigarettes, matches, can opener, and toilet paper.

D-rations were an attempt at a meal replacement bar, which were notoriously bitter tasting and had bad effects on the digestive tract.

K-rations, aka combat rations or survival rations, were individual daily rations for combat troops to be used in emergencies. They only contained 800-1200 calories and extended use by field troops ended up causing severe weight loss.


	15. Chapter 15: April 8

April 8, 1945

"Camp 13, Lieutenant Miller speaking," said the American aide, answering the phone in the commandant's outer office after the second ring.

"Zis is General Hoganmüller. I vant to speak to Hauptmann Carterheim, mach schnell!" came the gruff male voice with a thick German accent over the wire.

"One moment please," replied the Lieutenant and then put the phone down on the desk. He quickly rose and crossed to the door of the inner office, knocking twice before opening it.

"Major Sullivan, sir?" said Miller. Sullivan looked up from Klink's former desk where he was sorting through the camp records.

"What is it Miller?" he asked, pen poised over some documents.

"There's a phone call from a General Hoganmüller looking for Hauptmann Carterheim. What should I tell him, sir?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Carterheim? I don't recall that name from the camp records. I don't think there was anyone with the rank of Hauptmann assigned here. I'll speak with him," said Sullivan, picking up the phone.

"This is Major Sullivan," he said into the receiver while Miller returned to his desk in relief, closing the office door behind him. "Can I help you?"

"Sullivan? Sullivan? Zat sounds Amerikanisch!" came the indignant reply from the other end of the line.

"I am American, sir. I have been placed in charge of this camp since it was liberated two days ago. I understand you were looking for a Hauptmann Carterheim, but I do not show any record of him being stationed at this camp."

"Vhat camp iz this?" demanded Hoganmüller.

"Camp 13, formerly Luftstalag 13 near Hammelburg, sir," replied Sullivan patiently.

"Thirteen? Thirteen? Bah! I wanted Fifteen! Wrong number!" and with a resounding click, General Hoganmüller hung up.

_Well that was highly unusual_ thought Sullivan to himself, returning to his paperwork.

* * *

Down in the tunnels, Baker disconnected his patch into the phone lines, gave a little 'whoop' of excitement, and ran to get Carter and the others.

* * *

The civilian dressed in the camel coloured jacket with his new fedora worn low over his brow, hurried out of the phone booth and wove his way through the streets of Berlin, putting as much ground as possible between the phone booth and his next destination.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter stepped out of Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin and paused to inhale a breath of fresh air. Located at Prinz Albrecht-Straße 8, the imposing stone building was only a couple blocks south of the Reich Chancellery. Hochstetter had been working non-stop all day and well into the evening, even though it was Sunday. He was determined to make a good impression on his superiors now that he had finally earned his promotion.

It was too late to return home and cook a meal, so he decided to stop at the _Bier Stube_, a popular place where many officers from the inner circles frequented for a bite to eat.

* * *

The civilian once more checked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. Believing it was clear, he stole into the darkened alley between two buildings. Reaching the side door to the building on the right, he took one more look around before entering. No one should be suspicious of him, but it paid not to be too careful. Nothing was moving so he ducked inside the _Bier Stube_, where he had dined a few nights ago.

Hogan slipped into the main room of the restaurant and eased himself onto the last stool at the end of the bar. Checking his watch, he signalled to the barmaid, who immediately came over to the handsome man she'd had the pleasure of serving a couple of nights before.

"Liesl, darling, could I trouble you to use your phone, bitte?" he asked with a charming smile.

* * *

Precisely fifteen minutes after the first call, the switchboard under Stalag 13 lit up. Intercepting the signal before it could ring upstairs, Baker nodded for Carter to pick up the receiver.

"Carterheim residence, how may I help you?" asked Carter, using a slightly German accent. He held the receiver slightly away from his ear so the others could crowd around and hear both sides of the conversation.

"Guten Abend, Cousin ," came the reply. "It's Rupert in Berlin. I have been talking to Gerald, who mentioned your mother had taken a turn. Is everything alright at home?"

At the sound of Hogan's voice over the wire, LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged broad grins, leaning closer to hear more.

"Rupert, it is good to hear your voice. Yes, Mutter did have a spell, but it didn't last very long. There were no lasting effects and she is free to go wherever she wants. We are all doing well, although big brothers Wilhelm and Hans are tied up in their work," explained Carter. "Uncle Sam has come to stay for a bit until the vacation plans are set to visit Cousin Thomas. We'll know in a few days what they are. Is everything ok with you?"

"Most certainly, cousin. I have met a new friend whom I'd think you'd get along well with, if you ever get a chance to visit me in Berlin. His name is Erlich Strauss, a Hauptsturmführer in the SS. I must go. Not sure if I'll get a chance to call again as Gerald has me busy. Take care and be safe."

"Thanks for calling, Rupert. It was good to hear from you. You take care also. Auf Wiedersehen."

"Auf Wiedersehen. Heil Hitler," and with a click, Hogan was gone.

* * *

Wolfgang Hochstetter looked around the _Bier Stube_, trying to find a free table. As his gaze crossed the bar area, he noted a man speaking into the telephone who looked vaguely familiar. There were a lot of people in the restaurant tonight, and Hochstetter found himself only catching glimpses of the man, not enough to get a good look at him, especially as he sat with his back turned. Wolfgang found his feet automatically headed in that direction, weaving through the crowd, as he stared at the dark haired man, trying to place him.

* * *

Hogan reached over the bar to hang up the receiver and thought about the message Carter had relayed in code over the phone. The liberation of camp by US forces had not taken very long and everyone was ok. Klink and Schultz were being held and arrangements were in the works for evacuation to England. He felt a great weight being lifted now knowing what was happening to his men. _His former men_, his mind corrected. It didn't matter; they were still friends in his heart. It had been worth the chances he had taken to contact them just this once, plus they now knew what his undercover name was.

Hogan turned on his barstool to flag Liesl for a meal, when he caught sight of a short moustached man in a fedora threading his way through the crowd. He couldn't believe his eyes as he realized Wolfgang Hochstetter was headed in his direction. Adrenalin spiking, all thoughts of a meal forgotten, Hogan grabbed his hat and hastily slipped out the back door, hoping desperately that he had not been recognized.

* * *

Hochstetter grunted as he quickly regained his footing after being jostled by an overzealous patron. His attention diverted, he snapped out of the stupor he'd fallen into upon spying the dark haired man at the bar. Righting himself, he dodged a group of _leutnants_, still intent on reaching his goal. By the time he had cleared a path however, the mysterious man had disappeared.

Hochstetter ran to the back door and out into the alley, looking in all directions, but there was no one in sight. It was then that Hochstetter realized who the man had looked like. _He's dead. I know for a fact, the man is dead,_ he thought to himself, gloves creaking ominously as he ground one fist into the other hand. But Wolfgang swore that the man he had seen in the bar had been one Colonel Robert Hogan...

* * *

A/N: I hope everyone followed Hogan and Carter's conversation. Rupert is a Germanic variant of Robert. Gerald is the formal of Gerry, or Jerry, which is the slang name the Allies had for the Germans. Mutter (German for Mother) refers to the camp. Uncle Sam is the American forces of course. Thomas is the formal for Tommy, which is a nickname for a British soldier, similar to Jerry but dating back to the 1800s.


	16. Chapter 16: April 9

_A/N: I was overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter. Thanks all for the continued support and thanks for reading!_

* * *

April 9, 1945

Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter had had very little sleep the night before he stormed into his office at Gestapo Headquarters, startling his assistant who was quietly working in the outer office. The slamming of the inner office door caused the large picture of the Führer to bounce and bang against the wall, hanging askew. Quickly, Grüber jumped up to fix it, lest anyone see it and question his respect for the illustrious leader of the German nation. He had just returned to his desk when the inner door opened and Hochstetter leaned out, face red and scowling.

"Get me the Red Cross Records Processing Office, at once!" he barked, once again slamming the door.

Grüber looked at the crooked picture again and debated about which would get him into more trouble: the slanted Führer or delaying placing the phone call. Deciding Hochstetter was more of an immediate threat, and that the picture would probably end up tilted at least six more times today alone, Grüber swiftly reached for the telephone and contacted the operator to connect the call.

* * *

Inside the office, Hochstetter sat at his simple wooden desk, eyes closed, elbows perched on the flat surface as he massaged his aching temples. He had been up most of the night, tossing and turning, seeing the face of the one man he thought he had finally laid to rest. Even from beyond the grave, Hogan was still controlling his life.

He jumped a bit as the phone rang, snatching up the receiver before it could ring a second time.

"Hochstetter," he said gruffly.

"Colonel, I have the Red Cross on the line," came Grüber's voice through the wire.

"Good." There were a couple of clicks as the call connected.

"Red Cross, how may I help you?" asked a slightly accented female voice.

"This is Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter. I need to check on the paperwork for a deceased American Colonel," Hochstetter began.

"I'll transfer you to the records department. Please hold." The line went dead and more clicking could be heard, followed by ringing.

"Records department," Hochstetter heard as the call was answered.

"This is Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter. I need to check on the paperwork for a deceased American Colonel," Hochstetter started again.

"One moment please," came the reply before the line again went dead. Hochstetter's blood pressure began to climb again, frustrated at being put on hold once more.

"How may I help you?" another voice asked as the call was picked up yet again by a third person.

"This is Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter. I need to check on the paperwork for a deceased American Colonel," Hochstetter growled as he explained yet again.

"I need the person's name, rank, country, military branch, serial number, location, date and cause of death," droned the woman on the other end of the line.

"Hogan, Robert E.; Colonel; US Army Air Corps; 0876707; Luftstalag 13, Hammelburg; Sunday, April 1, 1945; execution by Gestapo firing squad," replied Hochstetter, rhyming off Hogan's details as surely and swiftly as if they were his own.

"Thank you, Colonel. We'll get back to you as soon as we locate the file. Where can you be reached?" asked the Red Cross representative politely.

"You will look for the file _now_, frauline," stressed Hochstetter. "I will wait."

"It may take some time, Colonel. Surely you realize we process thousands of files every day from all nations…"

"NOW!" roared Hochstetter, his impatience getting away from him as he banged his desk with a fist. The walls of his office shook and outside his door, Grüber winced.

"Of course, Herr Colonel," came the meek reply. In the background came sounds of papers shuffling, piles of folders thunking as they were moved, other phones ringing, and the murmur of conversations.

Hochstetter laid the receiver on his desk, stood, and began to pace. Each time he passed his desk, he could hear the frantic sounds of searching going on at the Red Cross office. Back and forth he paced; the longer it took the more certain he became that the report had never been filed because Hogan was still alive. He didn't know how that could be, but the idea burned deep in his gut.

"Herr Colonel? Are you there Colonel?" Hochstetter snapped up the phone and placed it against his ear.

"Ja, ja, I am still here. What have you found?" Hochstetter held his breath in anticipation.

"I have a report here, filed by an Oberst Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of Luftstalag 13. It arrived yesterday, along with Colonel Hogan's dog tags and POW records."

Silence stretched taut with such tension that even the Red Cross administrator could feel it through the phone connection.

"Sir? Is everything ok? I found the paperwork…"

A deep growl began in the back of Hochstetter's throat, growing in intensity, his face flushing to match the increasing volume, hand holding the receiver shaking violently.

"BAH!"

The expletive erupted from Hochstetter's entire being as the receiver slammed down in its cradle.

* * *

At the Red Cross office, the woman on the other end of the line hung up the phone and rubbed her ear.

"What happened, Louisa?" asked a concerned co-worker.

"I just had the oddest call from a Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel. He asked if we received the paperwork in regards to the execution of an American Colonel POW. Such a shame that. Colonel Robert Hogan – he looks like such a handsome man in his photo. I know we are supposed to be neutral but…" Louisa sighed.

"Yes, sometimes I can agree with you. There is just so many we process through here, I'll be glad once the war is over. But tell me what happened with your phone call?"

"That Colonel absolutely insisted I search for the file immediately, rather than call him back as we usually do, since there are so many files to look through. Fortunately, I found the one he was looking for as it had just arrived yesterday and was near the top of the initial processing pile. I thought he would be happy the paperwork was here, but instead he all but screamed at me and slammed down the phone! He was extremely rude," said Louisa. "And my ear is still ringing."

"Well, hopefully he won't call back again," said the co-worker, giving Louisa a pat on the shoulder before returning to her desk.

Picking up her phone, she made her own call.

* * *

"General Barton?" asked his aide, while leaning his upper body through the partially open door of the inner office.

"Come in, Westin," said General Aloysius Barton, waving the man in without raising his head from what he was working on. He finished writing a couple of notations. "What have you brought me now?" he asked, looking up from the papers strewn across his desk.

"Memo from Brigadier Weatherby, Intelligence," replied Westin, waving the manila folder in his hand as he entered the room.

"What does he want, Major?" questioned Barton, an older, gruff looking man with short hair that was more silver than black anymore.

"Don't know, sir. The file is sealed and marked 'your eyes only'." Westin handed over the folder.

Barton examined the file for tampering and found none. Initialling the front cover to indicate he had received it in tact, he broke the seal and flipped open the front cover. A single sheet was inside, written on letterhead from the Intelligence department.

_To: __Brigadier General Aloysius Barton, US Army Air Corps_

_From: Brigadier Charles Weatherby, British Army Intelligence Corps_

_Re: Inquiries regarding status of Colonel Robert E. Hogan, US Army Air Corps, 0876707_

_Please be advised British Intelligence has received contact from inside the Red Cross informing us they have had an inquiry in regards to the status of the paperwork involving Colonel Hogan. While not personally contacted, the operative was able to discern the inquiry originated with a Lieutenant Colonel from the Gestapo. _

_Due to this action__, it is highly recommended the notification process to inform Colonel Hogan's next of kin be expedited immediately. While the original plan had been to delay the process for as long as possible to spare the family's emotional upheaval, at this point in time, there appears to be no choice in the matter in order to assist in the protection of Colonel Hogan during his current assignment._

_The contact at the Red Cross will be notified to process the paperwork for the deceased upon signed agreement of this letter._

_Brig__. C. Weatherby_

Barton leaned back and sighed, rubbing one hand over his lined face as he stared at the contents of the letter. Propping his head on his hand, arm braced on the chair's arm rest, he reread the memo again, hoping the words had changed. It was hard enough notifying families whose brothers, sons, uncles, fathers had died in service to their country, but to put a family through it when their loved one was still alive rattled the older service man.

Barton recalled meeting Colonel Hogan a few years back. The General had been leading an air raid over the Hammelburg area of Germany. His target: an ammunitions plant that had been recently discovered by an Allied agent code named Papa Bear. During the run, Barton's plane had been shot down and he had been captured and taken to Stalag 13. Interred in a cell in the cooler, his future did not look promising.

Aloysius refused to give up hope for escape however, until the German camp Kommandant, a Colonel Klink, had paraded his cowed Senior POW Officer, one Colonel Robert Hogan, in front of his face. Klink boasted of his no escape record and had noted how helpful Hogan had been in maintaining the status quo.

Barton had remembered Hogan from when he commanded the 504th Bomber Squadron. A confident and competent officer who had risen through the ranks swiftly due to his sharp mind, excellent tactical skills, and strong leadership ability, Hogan had been on track to be one of the youngest Generals in the history of the Army, until he had been captured two years before Barton's arrival at Stalag 13.

What Aloysius had seen and heard in the two minutes since Klink and Hogan had entered his cell had made Barton feel sick to his stomach. How the Germans had managed to turn such a bright and promising military officer into the 'co-operative and understanding' POW brought before him, Aloysius couldn't comprehend. It had made his blood boil and he had made his feelings perfectly clear to Hogan, calling him a coward, a traitor and a disgrace to the uniform. Surprisingly, Hogan had taken it stoically with only a slight tightening of his jaw and hardening around his eyes to indicate Barton's words had made any impact on the American Colonel whatsoever. The German Colonel seemed exceptionally gleeful at his SPO's dressing down. At the time, Barton thought he would never see Hogan again and was perfectly happy about it.

The events that happened in the two days following the brief meeting had stunned Barton. After the visit by Klink and Hogan, Barton had allowed himself to indulge in a short bout of self-pity before managing a fitful night's sleep on the hard, narrow bunk attached to the cell wall. By mid afternoon, the General was told he was being exchanged for Field Marshall Von Heinke whom Barton didn't even know had been in Allied custody, and escorted to a waiting car for transfer to the trade location. By midnight, Aloysius was back in London as if he'd never left.

It wasn't just the rapidness of his freedom that had left Aloysius amazed. It had been the words of the RAF Corporal who had somehow managed to sidle up beside him as he was getting into the transfer vehicle. 'Newkirk' he believed the camp Kommandant had called him, had spoken of the respect and loyalty that Hogan inspired amongst the prisoners, of the dedication that the Colonel had in staying in Stalag 13 by choice, like a bear protecting its cubs. It was the Corporal's wording that had twigged something in Barton's brain as he went to get into the car, recalling the Intelligence operative named Papa Bear whose information had sent him on this ill-fated mission in the first place.

Barton had looked around the camp, seeing it for the first time in daylight, since he had arrived at night and been immediately escorted from the covered truck to the cooler. He noted the roughly built huts, the muddy compound, the soldiers' uniforms that were worn and threadbare in places, and the oppressive barbed wire and machine gun towers that caged these men. If Hogan was indeed Papa Bear and deliberately chose to remain in these conditions to further strengthen their side of the war effort, then the man was no coward, traitor or disgrace. A hero was more like it, making a silent, unacknowledged sacrifice for his country for the last two years and who knew how many more to come. Not knowing if he would see Hogan again, Barton had called the man's name and offered him a textbook salute before climbing in the car.

On his return to England, Barton had taken an interest in Hogan and his new 'career' in the Intelligence Corps. Gaining clearance to know more details of the operation, since originally Hogan fell under his chain of command as Chief of All Daylight Bombing, Aloysius was kept informed on many of the missions Hogan undertook, especially since much of the information Papa Bear fed them led to bombing runs by Barton's squadrons. Barton had also been in on the decision to transfer Hogan to Berlin for permanent undercover work when the opportunity presented itself.

What he had not thoroughly agreed upon was how that transfer was to take place. The German Colonel, Norbert, had been thin in providing the details on how that was to be carried out. Upon learning that Norbert had set up Hogan for a mock execution to derail the Gestapo, Barton had argued vehemently not to process the paperwork to notify Hogan's next of kin. He had been overruled by Brigadier Weatherby and a couple of other Generals, but had won the concession to delay the formalities until it was deemed necessary. They had just reached that point.

General Barton looked up from the folder at the patiently waiting Major Westin. This was one order he hated issuing but he knew it had to be done. In the grand scheme of things, if this saved Hogan's life, would it matter so much the grief the family temporarily endured, knowing afterwards that he had returned alive? Barton still recalled how devastated his parents had been when his own brother failed to return from the Great War. Aloysius had been a mere Captain then, and he had watched his mother age prematurely from the heartbreak. He despised the thought of being the one to bring such sadness to Hogan's family, even momentarily. Barton fully believed that if Hogan could carry out his capers so successfully from within a German prison camp, then he would surely find a way to make it back safely.

Laying the file on his desk, Barton sat forward and reached for a pen. Pausing over the letter, he once again battled internally before hastily scribbling his signature in the required place on the memo. Shutting the folder with a snap, Barton sealed the file and handed it back to Westin for immediate delivery.

The order was executed.

* * *

A/N: Brigadier General Aloysius Barton was seen in Episode 49: "The General Swap". In the episode, the conversation between Newkirk and Barton is left to the viewers imaginations. Newkirk says, "So that's the setup" at the start of the scene and the end of his conversation with Barton. If it had been real life, I don't believe Newkirk would have been so open in revealing the truth about the operation in the middle of the compound, even to an American General, just to fix Hogan's hurt feelings at being called a traitor. Obviously for TV, Newkirk had to say enough for the viewers to immediately understand what caused Barton to change his opinion of Hogan and salute him before he left.


	17. Chapter 17: April 10

April 10, 1945

The close call with Lt. Colonel Hochstetter had thrown Hogan for a loop. That had been two days ago and he was still looking over his shoulder, constantly on guard for the face that haunted his nightmares. Norbert had warned him Hochstetter was stationed in Berlin, but Hogan never dreamed they'd visit the same restaurant purely by chance.

Hogan had returned to the Adlon and had managed by that time to calm his racing heart and clenched stomach enough to have dinner in the hotel restaurant. The atmosphere was warm and friendly and not as crowded as the _Biere Stube_ had been. Plus, Brigitta was there, a charming young lady with a quick wit and easy smile. She had waited on him again, and when he was practically the sole patron left in the café, had joined him at his table for awhile. Their conversation was relaxing and Rob found it helped ease his loneliness, the evening ending with a kiss as sweet and gentle as a spring rain.

This morning, Hogan had decided to stop in for coffee and pastry before heading to the Chancellery. Sitting at his usual table, he read the daily newspaper while sipping the hot brew.

"More coffee, Captain Strauss?" asked Brigitta, pot in hand as she passed his table.

"Bitte. Tell me, Brigitta, do you ever get the day off?" Hogan asked with a smile as he looked up from his paper to the waitress.

"Occasionally, when it is ration day. Working keeps me busy," replied Brigitta, filling his cup. "And I need the money to pay bills. It is hard to make ends meet and I have barely scraped by most months. The bombings have really taken a toll on the city and it is growing more and more difficult to survive for those not in the military. But you don't need to hear of my troubles. Is there anything else you wanted, Herr Strauss?"

"I thought I told you last night to call me Erlich," admonished Hogan with a gentle teasing in his voice.

"Yes you did. I like it very much – as unique and unusual as you are. It suits you."

"My mother's maiden name actually. You have no idea how many times I have been called Erich by mistake. A constant trial every year in gymnasium each time I got a new teacher."

They both chucked; Hogan's deep and low, Brigitta's soft and lyrical.

"If there is nothing else, then I must go attend to the other tables, Erlich," she said, his name rolling easily from her tongue. "Have a good day and be safe."

"Danke, Brigitta," said Hogan, rising from the table as he drained the last of his coffee. Reaching for his wallet, he withdrew a few extra marks which he dropped beside his empty cup. He picked up his cover and headed out of the café.

* * *

As Hogan neared the Reich Chancellery, a staff car passed him and pulled up in front of the main doors as he walked on the sidewalk. It was a General's car, flying a small Luftwaffe flag from the front wheel-well. Hogan slowed his approach as he watched the vehicle, a vague sense of familiarity sending off warnings inside his head.

The driver quickly hopped out and rounded the car to open the door for the dignitary inside. By this time, Hogan was almost to the entrance steps. He inhaled sharply in surprise as he recognized General Albert Burkhalter climbing out of the car.

Protocol demanded Hogan stop, salute and let the General proceed first. Not wanting to call attention to himself for failing to respect a superior officer, Hogan prayed Burkhalter was too self-absorbed to pay much attention to a junior officer.

As luck would have it, Burkhalter was in a rush, scurrying up the steps as fast as he could while maintaining some decorum. As he passed Hogan, he barely gave him a sideways glance, tossing a return salute and disappearing into the immense building.

Hogan let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, dizzying relief washing over him.

"The General must be in a hurry today," he said casually to the driver, buying some time for Burkhalter to clear the lobby before Hogan entered.

"The General is always in a hurry these days," replied the driver before he got back in the car and drove away.

* * *

When Hogan arrived at the SS office, he found it in ordered chaos.

"Ah good, you're here," said Pfeiffer. He happened to be near the main door as Hogan entered. They both side-stepped to avoid a Sergeant speeding out the door with orders in hand. "Guten Morgen, Erlich."

"Guten Morgen, Hans. What is all the commotion about? Things were not this hectic when I left last night," replied Hogan as he headed towards his office to drop off his coat and cap.

"It's the Soviets," said Pfeiffer, following.

"Oh?" said Hogan as he shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on the coat tree just inside his office door.

"Königsberg in East Prussia finally fell to the Red Army. They are headed towards the Oder River in Poland – only 90 kilometres from here!" exclaimed Pfeiffer.

"What's being done?" asked Hogan, showing concern that was only partially an act. Hogan was torn. A take-over by British or American forces would be a lot safer and easier for him to 'come in from the cold' so to speak. If the Soviets invaded Berlin, he might have trouble getting out or establishing his undercover status. The Soviets were gaining a reputation for being brutal and ruthless, and yet anything that brought a swifter end to the war would be preferable than continuing the bloodshed.

"The planning is going on now. That's where I'm headed – back to the War Room for more details. I was there earlier, but they were all arguing. The Chiefs are trying to convince the Führer to retreat to the Eagle's Nest in Bavaria where he'll be safe. So far, he's refusing," said Pfeiffer, who was retracing his steps to the main office door.

"What can I do?" asked Hogan, following.

"Stay here for now. I will need you to expedite any orders for troop movements," replied Pfeiffer as he disappeared out the door.

* * *

Sergeant Carter rapped firmly on the door of the Commandant's office. Hearing a muffled "Come" from inside, he opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him. A couple of paces found him in front of the desk, where he gave a salute to Major Sullivan.

"Sergeant Carter reports as ordered, sir," said Carter while standing at attention. It was Carter's turn for his post-internment interview.

Looking up from his desk, Sullivan returned the salute. "Have a seat Sergeant; I have some brief questions for you."

Sitting in the wooden chair in front of the desk, Carter removed his cap and held it in his lap, waiting for the Major to begin.

"How long have you been a prisoner here, Sergeant?" was Sullivan's first question.

"About three years, sir," replied Carter, cap twisting slightly due to nerves. He had been dreading this interview. There was so much he had to protect; especially the operation and Carter knew how easy it was for him to let things slip without even realizing it.

"And have you always been the Senior POW Officer?" asked the Major.

"Oh no, I just started on April 2nd. That was Colonel Hogan's job," said Carter honestly.

"Yes, I've been going through a lot of the earlier records that Kommandant Klink kept of the camp, and Hogan's name is mentioned several times in regards to some unusual happenings in the camp. Where is Colonel Hogan now?" continued Sullivan, noting how Carter was twitching. _Was he hiding something?_ wondered the Major.

Carter paused before answering. Technically, the Colonel was in Berlin but Carter couldn't tell Sullivan that. But he couldn't lie to a superior officer, either. Carter's mind drew a blank on what to say. His hands twisted his cap tightly.

"Sergeant," said Sullivan in a soothing tone, "what happened to Colonel Hogan?"

Carter was relieved that Sullivan reworded the question to one he could answer openly. "He was put before a firing squad, sir." _That was the straight truth, just because he wasn't actually killed…_

"The Kommandant had him executed?" exclaimed Sullivan, breaking Carter's thoughts. "On what grounds?"

"Oh no, sir, not Kommandant Klink. It was the Gestapo. They came in force and took over the camp. Klink couldn't do anything to stop it."

"Klink couldn't or wouldn't stop it?" The Major's tone took on a hardened edge.

"Couldn't, sir. I'm sure Kommandant Klink wouldn't have wanted Colonel Hogan executed. They got along very well together. Klink even came to pay his respects to the Colonel afterwards," explained Carter.

Sullivan schooled his features into a neutral look. _They got along very well together._ The innocent sounding words rang a few alarm bells inside the Major's head. He sensed he would have to be careful how he got more information about that. He decided to switch tactics slightly.

"Stalag 13 has the reputation of being the toughest POW camp in all of Germany," started Sullivan. "Zero successful escapes. Must have been depressing, being cooped up here for three years with no hope of breaking out. Not even the slimmest chance of getting back onto friendly soil…" Sullivan let the sentence hang, hoping Carter would jump in.

"I guess so, some of the time, sir. Mostly it was boring, but we found ways of making time go by. We've had basket weaving contests, snowman building contests, set up a spa, filmed a movie; heck, we even built a boat once," said Carter, getting more excited as he recalled several distractions Hogan had arranged to cover the operation over the years.

"A boat?" Sullivan echoed in disbelief. "But we're no where near the water!"

"And we've had all sorts of parties, mostly for big-wig Germans mind you, but LeBeau is a wonderful chef – he's French, you know – and he'd always make extra so we could have leftovers when we were done waiting on the officers."

"Dinner parties? Waiters? What kind of POW camp is this?" asked the Major incredulously. He made some more notes on the report in front of him.

"It's okay, kinda like summer camp but with really lousy food," replied Carter, answering the question literally. "Kommandant Klink always tried to follow the Geneva Convention when he could but sometimes his hands were tied by his superiors. Colonel Hogan was great at making sure we always got something, like extra writing paper or white bread, for doing any work like waiting tables or road details. Even when we tried to escape and got recaptured, we only spent a few days in the cooler. I don't think anyone actually got the full 30 days Klink always promised."

"So you did attempt escapes then, just they weren't successful?" clarified Sullivan.

"Oh yeah, boy, er, um, I mean sir. We sure tried but Klink and Schultz, they were just too good for us. Yes, siree! We were never gone more than a few hours before they'd be out patrolling the woods with the dogs and we'd be back here before we knew what was happening."

"Anybody ever hurt during one of these escape attempts?" probed Sullivan.

"Naw, the dogs just rounded us up and Schultz would march us back to camp. Most of the time his rifle wasn't even loaded. We weren't in any danger of being shot, if that's what you're asking, Major."

"So if you weren't in any danger, what made you return?" Sullivan was curious.

"We like the way the barbed wire glints in the sun over the delousing station. It really is beautiful," said Carter with a dreamy look on his face. "You should come and see it."

Major Sullivan gave a harrumph, pencil scribbling the entire time.

* * *

Schultz was bored. He and the other guards had been confined to barracks for four days now, only being allowed out to be escorted to the Mess hall for meals and the latrine as necessary. They had had little interaction with the men they used to guard, and Hans was finding he missed the boys from Barrake 2.

Things had changed so much in the last two weeks that Schultz found himself wishing for the old days. He was a man of routine and was happiest when things stayed the same. That was one of the reasons why the shenanigans by Colonel Hogan and his men always got him so riled. He knew there was more going on than he wanted to know in the hut across the compound. Schultz was loyal to Germany, yes; to the Nazis and what they stood for, no. He figured if he turned a blind eye to what was happening, as long as everything went back to normal for awhile afterwards, then he could go along with their little escapades and maybe the war would be a little shorter.

"Sergeant Schultz?"

The query shook Schultz from his reverie and he looked up from where he sat at his desk. Like Colonel Hogan, as Sergeant of the Guards Schultz had his own room in the guards' quarters.

"Ja, Langenscheidt, what can I do for you?" the kindly Sergeant replied.

"What do you think will happen now? You were in World War 1. What happened to the soldiers when Germany was defeated? I do not wish to sound disloyal, but surely we will not be winning this war either." The Corporal had stepped into the office and closed the door, concern etching his young features.

Schultz sighed. He had similar questions and no real answers. He thought for a moment before replying. "I think we will be ok, Karl. We will have to stay in barracks for a while, until the camp is evacuated of all its former prisoners. I am sure the Americans are keeping us here for our own protection, in case the prisoners want revenge on their former jailers. I don't think it would be likely in this camp but they don't know that. Then I think we will be moved to the barracks as POWs. We will likely see more Germans being brought in as well, until the war is over."

"And after the war? What will happen to us?"

"We will likely be held for a bit until they decide who they want to arrest for war crimes. The rest of us should be able to return to our homes and start rebuilding. It will be good not to ever have to wear a uniform again."

"You will return to your toy company?"

"I do not know. I will have to see what is left, how much it will be to rebuild. I am not as young as I used to be. Ten years ago I fancied I'd be close to retiring by now, so I do not know if I have the energy to recreate the entire company from scratch. People will not have money to spare for toys. Perhaps it would be best left in the past," said Schultz shaking his head sadly. "What of you? What will you do when the war is over?"

"I am not sure. I will return home to my mother and sister and make sure they are alright. Eventually, I would like to return to my university studies in Stüttgart, but I understand most of the buildings were destroyed by air raids in July of '44. I guess we will have to wait and see what the future brings."

"Ja, that we will."

* * *

Major Sullivan sat back in his office chair and perused the statements from the camp's former prisoners. He had analyzed all their accounts of things that had happened; correlating events, taking note of things the interviewers had highlighted as being out of place in a few sections of the reports. Close to 700 men interviewed over 4 days by his support staff and himself.

He didn't like his conclusions. Either something incredibly strange was happening in this camp, or all the camp inhabitants were going to be courts-marshalled for complacency with the enemy.

* * *

Klink sat in the cooler alone. He'd been alone since being escorted here four days ago by the American, Major Sullivan. At least he was in one of the warmer cells and he still had his overcoat. Soldiers would bring him meals at regular intervals but he missed his hot cup of cocoa before bed. He especially missed his bed. The cot attached to the wall was hard and made his back ache.

He briefly wondered if Hogan had ever suffered the problem, on the few occasions the American Colonel had spent overnight in the cooler. Most times, Hogan had weaseled out of the intended punishment, until Major Hochstetter came along. Morosely, Klink wondered if this was the cell Hogan was put in the night before his execution and what his thoughts had been while he was awaiting his fate.

Klink was not a happy person at the moment. Several times over the last few days, Klink had imagined what would happen to him once peace was declared, each one more horrible than the first. At the moment he was very thankful he never had earned his General's stripe. Although he had always dreamed of being a General, he would not want to be considered as one of those responsible for things 'his people' had done. He could be in enough trouble as the one responsible for the prisoners in this camp. He hoped his attempts to follow the Geneva Convention would be sufficient to save him from a lifetime in prison.

Klink shook off his depressing thoughts as he heard the outside door open and the echoing of boots down the hall. He rose to meet his latest visitor.

"Howdy, Kommandant!"

"Sergeant Carter? What are you doing here?" Klink asked, astonished. This was the first time he had had any contact with his former prisoners.

"Thought I'd check up on you. Know you haven't had many visitors and you've been alone for a while. Oh, and here's your dinner," said Carter, slipping the tray of food through the slot in the door. "Anything I can get for ya?"

"That's very nice of you Sergeant, _danke_. The other soldiers who bring my meals won't even give me the time of day."

"Oh, it's 18:22," replied Carter helpfully. "Is your watch broken, sir?"

"No it's not broken! _Dumpk_…that is, heh, just checking it's still the correct time." Klink reigned in his natural tendency to yell at Sergeants who pointed out the obvious. He realized suddenly he missed Schultz and he sighed. No point in alienating the only visitor he'd had. "So, any news?" asked Klink as he placed his tray on the table.

"Not really, sir. Schultz and the other guards are still confined to barracks. Major Sullivan and his men have been busy interviewing all the prisoners. I think they'll likely start to evacuate the camp soon. They don't tell me much of what's going on. I'm not really that important any more. Least not like when you were in charge and I had to do Colonel Hogan's job."

"Yes, yes, that's fine, Sergeant. Thank you for dinner." Klink stepped over to the table and sat down to begin to eat.

"You're welcome, Colonel. You're sure there's nothing you need before I go?" asked Carter moving to turn away from the cell.

"Not at all. I'm fine. I'm fine." Klink rushed over to the bars. "What can you get for me?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure. What do you want?" asked Carter cautiously.

"My real bed. My hot cocoa. My cigars and schnapps. Another blanket and pillow. Something to do all day. A way out of here?" Once he started, Klink's list kept growing, taking on a life of its own.

"Well, I can't make any promises," said Carter, shrugging with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "But I'll see what I can do about some of it. Good night, Kommandant."

"Danke, Sergeant. Good night," replied Klink, sitting down to his dinner.

Later that night when the guard came to take away Klink's dinner dishes, he brought a spare blanket and a deck of cards courtesy of Sergeant Carter. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

* * *

Hogan sat back and perused his work, pleased at how well it was turning out. He was sitting at the little table in his room at the Hotel Adlon, small piles of discarded paper littering the surface.

He grabbed a fresh sheet and once more set to his task, copying the document hand written by Hans Pfeiffer he had smuggled out of the Reich Chancellery last week, this time without looking at the original. Once he had the few sentences transcribed, he compared the original to his own work. Newkirk would be hard pressed to tell one from the other. Hogan grinned at his forgery, knowing he could now rewrite any order from Pfeiffer easily and quickly and have it be accepted as Pfeiffer's own.

Satisfied with his efforts that he'd been working on for several evenings, Hogan gathered up the pages and took them to the sink, where he lit them on fire and washed away the evidence.

* * *

It was nearing 22:00 when the communiqué was received by Major Sullivan's radio team. Orders came in from Headquarters detailing a list of former prisoners who were to remain at Camp 13, no explanation given.

Sullivan scratched his head as he read the list. These were the primary men he'd thought to put up on complacency charges. Somehow, he didn't believe in coincidences…


	18. Chapter 18: April 11

April 11, 1945

The Allies continued their push across central Europe, driving back the Germans. The American forces had reached the Elbe at Magdeburg – only sixty miles west of Berlin. The Soviets were approximately the same distance away, only to the east. The race was on.

* * *

Hogan was studying the map of Germany in the SS office of the Reich Chancellery. The picture was looking grim for the future of the Third Reich, which pleased Hogan to no end. Berlin was sitting like the peanut butter in the middle of a sandwich between the Allies and the Soviets and he was stuck in it.

A corporal marched up beside Hogan and clicked his heels in respect. "Pardon, Hauptsturmführer, but I have been sent to fetch you," the soldier said, interrupting Hogan's thoughts.

"Fetch me? By whom?" asked Hogan, puzzled by the request.

"Your presence is required in the War Room. I was told to escort you," replied the corporal. "This way, bitte."

At the corporal's words, Hogan felt his entire body go numb. He knew there was a strong possibility this day would come eventually, but he found himself ill-prepared for it regardless. He followed behind the guard in a daze, through corridors he was familiar with and then into ones he was not. He passed the grand surroundings and lavish décor, the priceless paintings and antique furniture without taking much of it in. The halls were carpeted in lush red, smothering the sound of boot heels in its plushness causing an eerie silence broken only by Hogan's breathing which seemed much too harsh to his ears. As he walked, his nerves grew, knowing for certain what, or more specifically who, was waiting for him. It was worse than following Hochstetter to his execution.

The corporal arrived at a heavy wooden door, rapped once and swung the door open wide. Hogan tried to swallow to ease his bone dry mouth. He wiped his palms against his uniform pants, took a shaky breath that was suppose to steady him but failed, and stepped in behind his escort. He kept a neutral expression on his face, while his eyes quickly flitted around the room, taking in the walls of darkly stained wooden panels, the paintings, statues, and ornate furniture.

The center of the room held an immense table, intricately carved in wood with mythical figures. Medusa, her hair of snakes writhing outwards and entwining around the legs, was on the side facing him. The top of the desk was solid marble, what could be seen for the maps and other documents strewn across its polished surface.

And there behind the table, standing straight and proud with his arms clasped behind his back, was Adolf Hitler.

* * *

The card game in Barracks 2 was interrupted by the convoy of trucks entering the compound. Throwing in their hands, the team quickly scrambled outside the hut to watch as vehicle after vehicle poured in the front gates.

"Guess this is it then, mates," started Newkirk as he watched the procession of troop transports filing into the camp.

"Yeah. They really are sending us back," said Carter, softly.

"Back to real beds, heated buildings, three meals a day, unlimited electricity, hot showers, flush toilets, new uniforms…sounds like heaven," said Baker, who had been there the shortest amount of time of the team members.

"_Oui_, but it won't have you, _mes amis_," added LeBeau poignantly.

Major Sullivan chose that moment to appear from the Commandant building. Someone had taken the liberty to correct the spelling on the sign labeling the structure, changing the 'K' to a 'C' and blacking out the 'ur' on the end. In a similar way, the 'e's on the end of 'Barrake' had been overwritten with an 's' on all the huts and the 'c's were squeezed in to get the English spelling. The flag pole/radio antenna was now flying the Stars and Stripes and it snapped in the wind. Sullivan called for all the men to fall in, not quite a roll call, but he wanted to address the camp at large. Once all the men had formed up in front of their barracks, he began to speak.

"Former prisoners of Luft Stalag 13," he began. "The day you have been waiting for is finally here. Starting in a few hours, we will begin evacuating this camp of all Allied personnel."

Cheers, loud yells, and whistles interrupted Sullivan's speech. He gave the crowd a minute to celebrate before calling them to order once again.

"We will be evacuating the camp by nationality. Once you have been assigned to a truck, you will be taken to Würzburg, about forty minutes from here, for further processing. It will be the responsibility of your Allied National Forces to process you according to their current policies and decide whether you are reassigned or discharged.

"For the Americans present, here are the basics of the policy adapted at the beginning of this year. A point system has been developed in which your length of service and combat duty are combined to produce a score. Based on that score, there are three possible outcomes: you may be sent home, dispatched to the Pacific to fight the Japanese, or remanded to Europe to continue the fight here and remain as part of the occupation force at the point where cessation of hostilities exists by the surrender of Germany.

"I have received a communiqué from Headquarters assigning some of the former prisoners to Camp 13 temporarily: Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter, USAAC; Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF; Corporal Louis LeBeau, Free French Forces; Sergeant Richard Baker, USAAC; Sergeant Patrick Olsen, USAAC…" Sullivan droned on, reading the names of all the former barracks chiefs and others who held ranks of Corporal or higher until he reached fifty names in total.

"For those of you leaving, return to your barracks and collect any belongings you wish to take with you. Captain Nichols and his team are coordinating the evac. The French will be the first to depart, as per arrangement with DeGaulle and the Provisional Government of the French Republic. God speed, gentlemen. Dismissed!"

* * *

Hogan stepped further into the room and gathered his wits around him. This wasn't Carter doing one of his impersonations – this was the real deal. At no time had anyone briefed him on proper protocol when meeting the head of the Third Reich. As he clicked his heels and stood at attention, Hogan's right hand flew up in the 'Heil' salute. "Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss… Mein Führer." Hogan nearly choked over the words. _Maintain cover at all costs!_ he chided himself, attempting to bury his personal feelings deep. Hogan could feel his heart pounding and little beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He reminded himself to breathe – it wouldn't do to pass out at Hitler's feet.

Hitler motioned to the guard for him to go, which he did, leaving the two men alone. For a moment, they looked at each other, sizing each other up, taking in first impressions. Then Hitler twitched his moustache.

"My apologies," was the first thing he said to Hogan, leaving the American flabbergasted. "I had intended to meet you sooner but there is always so much to watch over. I have to attend to every minor detail myself it seems or nothing gets done." He sighed. "Welcome to Berlin."

"Vielen dank, Mein Führer," replied Hogan, choosing the formal version of 'thank you', the other words coming easier this time. He could do this, he knew he could. It was the greatest acting role he'd ever played, making his past performances for the operation look like amateur theatre night at the local playhouse. He dropped his arm to his side and waited for Hitler's next move.

"Hauptsturmführer Pfeiffer seems pleased with your work so far," Hitler began, pacing a bit behind the immense desk. He paused and looked at Hogan again. "You have settled in, found a place to live?"

"Yes, sir. I am living at the Hotel Adlon," replied Hogan, keeping his answers brief.

"Ah, the Adlon. Very good. I had the Czech president and his daughter stay on the upper floor there back in '39 while I invaded his country. You have your own Water Closet?" Hitler asked.

"Yes, sir," responded Hogan with a furrowed brow. He wondered why the Führer was asking if his room had a toilet. _Maybe 'Old Scramble Brains' wasn't such a bad nickname for him after all._

"Reminds me of a trip back in the late '30s – the Hotel Elephant at Weimar," Hitler mused. "My regular rooms had running water but no WC, so I had to walk down this long corridor and vanish into the little room at the end. It was sheer purgatory every time, because when I left my room word spread around the hotel like wildfire, and when I emerged from the closet they were all waiting to cheer me and I had to give the Hitler salute and a rather embarrassed smile all the way back to my room." He paused with an amused smile on his face. "Later on I had that hotel rebuilt."

_Humour? From Hitler?_ Never in his wildest dreams had Hogan ever imagined the scenario playing out before him. He thought about everything he had ever learned about the German leader and it was all very superficial: strategy patterns, decision making, physical appearance, political views, rumours of a volatile temper. He had never considered there was a person behind the image, much in the same way it surprises you as a kid when one sees your Grade 1 teacher cutting grass or buying groceries. Hogan was feeling distinctly unbalanced.

"I am afraid I have never had the pleasure of visiting Weimar." Hogan covered the gap in conversation quickly.

"A home to many classical composers such as Bach, Berlioz, and Liszt. I do not recommend you go there at the moment, however. It is full of Allied troops. They have taken Buchenwald camp there today." Hitler gave a little thump on the table with one fist.

Hogan was unsure of what to respond, not wanting to fuel the anger of the man before him. The silence grew.

"They plan to divide us up, you know," said Hitler out of the blue.

Hogan took an involuntary step forward. "'They', sir?"

"The Allies, upon our defeat. Come have a look at their plans to carve up our glorious nation." Hitler waved Hogan closer to the marble table. Strewn across the top were plans marked 'Operation Eclipse'. One page detailed numerous categories of Germans for automatic arrest, such as upper ranks, Camp Kommandants, Nazi Party members, and Headquarters staff. Several more were maps detailing the dissection of Berlin and the country into occupation zones to be managed by the British, Americans and Russians. The plans were stamped 'Top Secret' and were obviously British in origin.

Hogan was stunned to learn the Germans had managed to gain access to intelligence at this level and tried to cover his surprise, but Hitler had been studying his face and noted the subtle reaction.

"Are you surprised at the fate the enemy has in store for us? Or by the fact that we have access such information?" Hitler gently queried.

"A little of both," Hogan admitted. _But not for the reasons you think_.

Hitler chuckled. "I like a man who will admit the truth. Worried for your future? As Headquarters staff you will be held…"

"Should I be, sir? Will Germany not continue to fight and push back those who threaten Her?" Hogan decided to be a bit more aggressive in this verbal dance to deflect Hitler from the real truth.

"Your sense of loyalty is admirable. Of course Germany will fight! Even now we rally to make a stand against the Soviets at Seelow Heights by the Oder River on the border with Poland. They will not attack for five days, which gives us time to dig in and position our troops." Hitler became more enthusiastic as he spoke, more certain than ever his forces would not continue to fail.

"You know this?" asked Hogan, wondering if he was pushing the limits of Hitler's hospitality.

"Yes, a Soviet deserter provided us with the information. The Gestapo assures me it is genuine." A gleam appeared in Hitler's eye that made Hogan sure he didn't want to know the poor soldier's fate. "Even as we speak, General Heinrici and the Army Group Vistula are fortifying the area with land mines, felling trees, and digging anti-tank trenches. I expect you and Hans will be handling most of the communications during the Oder campaign. The Russians are going to suffer their bloodiest defeat ever!"

A rap on the door interrupted Hogan's barely-thought response. After a brief hesitation, the door opened to admit a middle-aged blond woman with a notebook: one of Hitler's secretaries.

"Göring is here, as per your schedule," she said simply.

"Danke, Marta," replied Hitler. He looked at Hogan. "Dismissed!" he said sharply.

Hogan clicked his heels and made the Hitler salute before executing a text-book about face and marching briskly out of the room.

He had never been more relieved in his life.

* * *

A/N: The story of the Hotel Elephant at Weimar is taken from "Hitler's War and the War Path" by David Irving (pg 778). It seems to be quite a controversial book, concentrating on Hitler, his health, personality, etc. during his rise to power and throughout the war. Apparently, in some universities it is required reading and yet others will practically expel you for citing it. Irving has written over 30 books on WW2. I'm not going to use it as gospel, but I found the hotel anecdote amusing and it shows a different side to Hitler than Carter's standard ranting and raving portrayal.

Operation Eclipse was the British plans for Germany post-war, as well as a specific list of officers who were to be detained for war crime trials. Hitler had copies of the plans by mid-April of 1945.

Also, to the best of my knowledge, Olsen was never given a first name in the series. If anyone knows his first name, let me know. In the mean time I called him Patrick since everyone else's first name was listed.


	19. Chapter 19: April 13

April 13, 1945

"Hey, Peter," called Carter from his bunk where he sat mending a sock, "do you know what today is?"

"Friday, if I recall rightly," said the Englishman from his bunk across the way.

"Not just any Friday," said Carter. "Friday the 13th!"

"Yeah, and? Wot's the big deal, Andrew?" replied Newkirk.

"You mean you aren't superstitious?" asked Carter, who put down his sewing and leaned back against the barrack wall.

"About a day? Not particularly, mate," responded Newkirk. "Why?"

"I just have a feeling something's going to happen today, that's all," replied Carter with a shrug.

"Somethin' 'appens everyday, Andrew. Some good, some bad. There is a war goin' on you know." Newkirk hopped down from his bunk and made his way over to the bench by Carter's bunk.

"I know, I know, but I just can't shake this feeling we're going to get some bad news today. I've had it ever since I woke up this morning." Carter studied his needlework in his lap.

"Maybe it's cuz almost everyone's been evacuated. There's only fifty of us left, Sullivan's staff, and Klink's crew. Makes the place rather empty compared to the last three years."

"I guess maybe," said Carter uncertainly.

"Then there's the fact we've been sittin' on our be-hinds with the operation shut down and all. And the gov'na's out of touch."

"True. I don't know Peter. I sure hope you're right. We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

At 11:00 hours, the remaining men from Stalag 13 gathered with Major Sullivan's staff in the Mess Hall for a meeting. There was plenty of room for everyone to sit around the tables.

"Welcome to the first of many staff meetings for Camp 13," said Sullivan, addressing the men from the front of the room. "Before we get down to business, I received an urgent communiqué this morning from Headquarters. I have an unfortunate announcement to make."

Carter was sitting beside Newkirk and elbowed him in the side at the Major's words. "See? I told you something bad would happen today!" whispered Carter, fidgeting in his seat.

"Hush so we can 'ear wot's up," replied Newkirk quietly, his gut clenching in anticipation. The other team members sat silently, each with similar thoughts:_ Had something happened to Colonel Hogan?_

"I regret to inform you that yesterday afternoon, our President Franklin D. Roosevelt passed away. Our former Vice President, Harry S. Truman has been appointed to the position of President of the United States in his stead. Flags will be lowered to half-mast for the duration of the 30 day national mourning period. We will now observe a minute of silence. Atten-hut!"

Everyone in the Mess jumped up from where they were sitting and snapped to attention. The team members were inwardly relieved, although somewhat concerned at what this would mean for the end of the war. The minute passed in complete silence.

"As you were," ordered Sullivan when the minute was up. He waited while everyone resumed their seats. Once the shuffling and scraping of benches had settled, he began speaking again. "Now that the camp has been evacuated of Allied personnel, it will be converted to hold German POWs. The first step is to move the German guards into prisoner barracks. The guard barracks are not secure, being closer to the fence line. This means we will no longer have to have a guard patrol in front of these huts.

"Since all of you are now considered to be camp staff, you will be consolidated into the guards' barracks. The German soldiers will be placed in barracks 2 through 4…"

"Excuse me, sir!" Carter jumped up in alarm, interrupting Major Sullivan as he detailed his plans.

"Yes, Sergeant Carter?" asked Sullivan, perturbed he had been interrupted.

Carter paused. He had reacted on instinct and now wasn't sure how to explain why the team had to stay in Barracks 2 without exposing the operation. He swallowed and shifted from foot to foot.

"The Germans can't stay in Barracks 2. It would probably be a good idea not to put them in a few other barracks as well. If I could suggest, Barracks 10 and 11 are lovely this time of year and are in full view of the south guard towers. The rest of us could combine into Barracks 2 and 3…"

"Are you questioning my orders, Sergeant?" demanded Sullivan.

"Uh, no sir? Just making a suggestion, since most of us are already located in Barracks 2 it would be easier if we didn't have to move…" Carter trailed off uncertainly. They didn't have a tunnel entrance in any of the guards' barracks. They also couldn't risk the Germans finding the trap door in the bunk of Barracks 2 or any of the other hidden things like the periscope in the taps, the storage cubbies under the firewood and in the benches, or the receiver in the coffee pot. If Sullivan forced them to move out, they'd be cut off from their radio as well.

"Sit down, Sergeant," barked Sullivan. He'd had enough of the strange things going on in this camp and they were going to stop right here. Carter sat obediently.

Major Sullivan continued with his briefing, going over new duty rosters and procedures. Finally after two hours, everyone was dismissed.

* * *

Hogan knew the way this time when he was paged to attend the Führer. He was marginally more relaxed this time then at his first meeting. He gave the single rap on the oak door and entered, assuming this was protocol after witnessing it a couple of times on his previous visit. He took a few steps into the room after closing the door, clicked his heels while at attention and offered the 'Heil' salute to the man waiting behind the desk.

"Ah, Strauss, what brings you here?" asked Hitler as he looked up from some documents on the desk he was studying intently.

"You sent for me, Mein Führer," replied Hogan, his brows knit in confusion.

"Yes, yes, so I did," replied Hitler, remembering. "Our meeting was interrupted the other day. Such is the way of war. I was not finished getting to know you."

Hogan waited patiently for Hitler to continue, sensing it wasn't his place to speak yet.

"You show remarkable interest in strategy. Pfeiffer reports you are frequently found studying the situation map. Do you have any gems to suggest?"

"I could hardly do that, Mein Führer. My background knowledge of the inner workings is meagre at best. I would be certain to suggest something inappropriate or already discarded as unfeasible," replied Hogan, trying to avoid committing himself to anything.

"Come, study this plan with me," invited the Führer. "I am interested in what you think. You intrigue me, Strauss. You seem unusually confident for a Captain, yet offering no more than what is expected, as a good officer should. I suspect you hide a great potential. You are much more than you seem on the surface, of that I am sure."

Hitler's words unnerved Hogan and he wondered if Hitler was extraordinarily adept at judging a person's character. Hogan drew near to the work table and studied the plans laid out on its marble surface. He could see it was a large map of the Oder River, specifically the area around Seelow Heights where the main east-west Autobahn crossed it. The map was marked up quite a bit, detailing lines of anti-tank ditches, trenches and bunkers. Squares and 'x's marked anti-tank gun placements and artillery pieces. Arrows indicated where troops were expected to go, being funnelled through the heights. The map had topographical markers on it too, showing the land heights, features of the terrain and the flood plain of the river.

It was a captivating offer to study strategy with Hitler, and Hogan found himself drawn in, wanting to gain insight on how this man thought. Hitler walked Strauss through the battle plan, pointing out the subtleties an inexperienced officer would have missed. Hogan's background was planning air raids and aerial assaults. The operation had made him learn to plan ground assaults on single targets with a small team – nothing on this magnitude. This was an all-out defensive using thousands of troops and tanks to stop the Soviets' advance.

It was a good plan from what Hogan could see and from what Hitler explained, yet he wondered for how long it would hold the Soviets back. While the Russians were technically part of the Allied Forces, Hogan had a personal interest in having the US and British Forces capture Berlin. Germany was throwing most of its available resources to the Eastern Front and not leaving much to protect its western side. If he could prolong the Oder campaign, perhaps the Brits and US Forces could capture Berlin from the west.

"So what do you think? It is perfect, is it not?" asked Hitler, proud of the plan.

Hogan was still immersed in the map and plans, something niggling in the back of his mind. As a result, he was not fully thinking about his reply when he said, "It's missing something but I'm not sure what. Give me a minute."

The casual words stopped Hitler cold. Hogan could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, sensing imminent danger. It took him a moment to realize why; Hogan had been so caught up in the plans, he had replied like a Colonel, not the mere Captain he was suppose to be. He had let his guard down and made a serious mistake. He wondered what it would cost him. Hogan swallowed and straightened up to face the wrath of the Führer.

"My apologies, Mein Führer. I spoke out of turn." Hogan offered no more words, refusing to be one of the many officers who fell over themselves in an effort to placate their superior. An image of Klink simpering to Burkhalter entered his mind unbidden. He stood at attention, waiting to see how the Führer would react.

"General Heinrici is head of the Army Group Vistula and is one of the best defensive tacticians in the entire German Army! He made these plans. What makes you think an amateur strategist like yourself can outdo an experienced officer like that? How dare you disrespect a superior and insult your Führer?" Hitler's words were sharp and stung Hogan like he'd been slapped. Hogan continued to wait in silence while he was dressed down by the head of the Third Reich. Hitler noticed how Strauss silently stood his ground; he'd had Generals snivelling by now and yet this mere Captain remained stoic. Hitler thought to rant some more, but reigned himself in with a deep breath, more curious as to what the Captain had seen than in berating him further, at least until he heard what it was. "What is it _missing_?" he demanded.

The question caught Hogan off-guard, being prepared for a longer tirade and possible dismissal from his posting, thus ending his undercover assignment. He eased out of his attention stance and looked down at the map lying on the table, which was silently daring him to come up with something to placate the Führer. Hogan wrapped one arm around his chest, resting his other on it as he stroked his chin and pondered the problem. As an aerial tactician, he was use to seeing the 'big picture' from overhead, taking in the entire lay of the land to see what obstacles outside of his target area could affect a mission. The ribbon of ink which represented the Oder River kept catching his eye. He followed it upstream on the map and noticed the markings of a reservoir system. The solution clicked.

"These markings show this area is a seasonal swamp as the overflow area to the Oder, correct?" Hogan asked, pointing to the area around the Autobahn between the river and the heights. Hitler gave a single nod in confirmation. "Flood it," Hogan said simply and stood back to gauge Hitler's reaction.

Hitler stared at Hogan and then at the map. "Explain," he barked.

"This is a flood plain. In spring, right _now_, it is already over-wet. Up here," Hogan pointed upstream, "is a reservoir. If your engineers release the water in the reservoir, the plain will flood. With the ground already swampy, the Soviet tanks will bog down in the mud and the infantry will have a hard time advancing through the water."

There was a long stretch of silence as Hitler considered Hogan's offering. Hogan waited on pins and needles for the verdict.

"Brilliant!" Hitler finally exclaimed, scooping up the map and holding it before him, studying the finer points of Hogan's plan, amazed it hadn't been thought of earlier by his experts. "I knew Roosevelt's death was an omen. We will still win this war!" he stated vehemently.

Hogan felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Roosevelt, Mein Führer?" he weakly asked.

"Ja, ja," Hitler commented absent-mindedly. "We got word during the night that the US President died. He's been replaced by a Harry Truman. Brilliant!" he said again, still wrapped up in Strauss' proposal.

With Hitler distracted, Hogan leaned on the marble desk, his knees feeling distinctly weak at the news that had been so casually imparted as well as the relief that he was able to come up with a suitable solution. With Roosevelt dead, Hogan wondered if the US would be able to take advantage of the delay he'd just handed the Germans. He wished he had known about the President's passing before he spoke. Hogan waited to be dismissed, hoping it would be soon so he could retreat to his office to contemplate the possible consequences of this bizarre meeting.

Hitler went over to the phone sitting on one of the side tables. Raising the receiver to his ear, he said, "Marta! Get me Heinrici at once!" While he waited to be connected, Hitler indicated Strauss could go. Saluting crisply, Hogan quickly fled the office.

* * *

"So fellas, what do you think?" asked Carter to the other team members as they drank coffee around the barracks table.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," said Baker, staring into the black liquid inside his cup.

"_Oui_, it must be done. If you try to confront Sullivan again, he'll have you put in the cooler with Klink," added LeBeau.

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas, mates. Not ta be a pessimist or nothin', but wot's to say London'll agree? Then wot'll we do?" chipped in Newkirk as he took a sip from his mug.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess," said Carter, shrugging. "So nobody can think of a way to convince Sullivan we have to stay in Barracks 2 without going over his head to London? Is it just my imagination, or was it easier to come up with these crazy schemes when Colonel Hogan was here?"

"It was probably easier for several reasons. First of all it was Klink and not Sullivan," pointed out Baker. "Klink's, well… Klink. But Sullivan's one of us. Has a lot more repercussions if you think about it."

"_C'est vrai_. It is one thing to trick your captors, something else to lie to your fellow countrymen."

"So we're all agreed then? We try London first?" asked Carter, searching his friends' faces for confirmation. No one had anything to add.

"Okay then. Come on Baker," said Carter, downing the last gulp of coffee and rising from the table. "We got a phone call to make."

* * *

"Baby Bear calling Goldilocks, Baby Bear calling Goldilocks, do you read? Over," said Carter into the microphone. Baker was twisting some dials on the box, tuning the reception on the radio connection to London.

"Goldilocks to Baby Bear, we read you. Why are you calling on the emergency channel? Over," came the reply from England.

"We have a Major problem, here Goldilocks." Baker rolled his eyes at Carter's pun. "Requesting permission to expose the operation to Commandant Sullivan. Over."

"On what grounds, Baby Bear?" was the reply.

"In a nutshell, the Major has ordered me and the team to move out of our barracks, which has the main access to the tunnels. He is planning to keep the Germans here in our place, which may lead to them discovering the operation. Also, the new barracks he wants us to move to don't have access to the tunnels. We'd be cut off from the radio. Do you copy? Over," explained Carter.

"Roger that Baby Bear. Hold while we discuss. Over."

Carter tried to wait patiently but soon found himself drumming his fingers on the table top. After about twenty minutes, the line crackled to life.

"Permission granted, but only the Major is to have the grand tour. Goldilocks over and out," London signed off.

* * *

Carter knocked on the door to Sullivan's office.

"Come," came the reply from the other side of the closed door.

Carter quickly opened the door and stepped through. "Major Sullivan, sir?" said Carter saluting.

"Yes, what is it Sergeant? I'm very busy. Have you come to apologize for your behaviour in the briefing?" asked Sullivan brusquely.

"No, sir. I've come to request you visit Barracks 2."

"Visit Barracks 2? Whatever for? Have you and your men started to move out yet?"

"No sir and we're not going to sir, until you come and see why we can't, sir," said Carter firmly.

"You're getting awfully close to insubordination, Sergeant. I suggest you start to mind your place," said Sullivan sternly.

"I'm sorry sir, but London has given you clearance to understand the full situation here and I can only do that from the barracks."

"London? When…? How…? You went over my head, Sergeant; I'm not going to forget that."

Carter had had enough. "Look, Major, with all due respect, you wanted to know what's been happening around here, so here you go: Colonel Hogan was executed by the Gestapo on April 1st for being a _spy_. He signed a confession to protect the rest of the camp. Colonel Hogan's code name was Papa Bear. We operate a traveller's aid and sabotage unit from underneath Barracks 2. The Germans do not know it exists and it is to remain Top Secret even from Allied personnel. London authorized me to let you in on it only because you wanted to move the German prisoners into that particular hut. When Colonel Gillespie wanted to bring the tanks into the compound, I managed to talk him out of it because I didn't know what affect it might have on our tunnel system, which has its main access through Barracks 2. Barracks 10 and 11, as well as the guard barracks do not have entries into the tunnels, which is why I suggested you place the prisoners in those huts. If you are interested, sir, I am willing to give you the grand tour of our operation."

"Colonel Hogan was Papa Bear?" Major Sullivan was astonished. Even the Army had heard of Papa Bear. The 14th had received some good Intel from the agent which saved many lives. Sullivan had heard the Gestapo had finally gotten him, but the Major hadn't put two and two together. "So all those crazy things you reported…"

"Were distractions to hide the operation, yes sir," finished Carter.

"Ok, Sergeant," said the Major, rising from behind the desk. "Show me the Bear's Lair." Sullivan grinned.

Carter and Sullivan walked side by side across the compound and entered Barracks 2.

"He's here for the grand tour, guys," said Carter to the room at large. He brought the Major over to the central table. "The primary team is made up of the four of us. Newkirk does stuff like forgery, safe cracking, pick pocketing, and things like that. He's also a good tailor and has helped to make a lot of the uniforms and civilian clothes for the guys we smuggled out to England. LeBeau here also helps with the clothing and cooks a lot of the dinners for the German big wigs we've gotten information off of. Baker's the radio man."

"What about you?"

"Oh I'm the demolitions guy. I make the bombs Newkirk and LeBeau help me set whenever we need to blow up an ammo depot or bridge or train or something. Kerpow! The bigger the better sir." Carter said with a wide grin, then moved across the room to the bunk with the tunnel entrance. Triggering the hidden latch, Carter watched Sullivan's face display amazement as the top of the bottom bunk rose and revealed the tunnel below. "This here's the main tunnel entrance. You can see why we don't want to move out, sir."

"Yes, yes, I think I'm going to have to rethink the plans a little," admitted the Major, moving across the room to peer down at the beckoning hole. "May I?"

"Of course. It wouldn't even be the nickel tour without going down there. After you sir," said Carter, following Sullivan down the ladder.

Carter took Major Sullivan through most of the tunnel system, pointing out the radio room, uniform stores, armoury, dark room, lab, and forgery room. Carter also showed him the map of where all the tunnels went, including the cooler, Commandant's quarters, various barracks, and outside the wire.

"Incredible, absolutely incredible. I would never have imagined anything like this as being possible, let alone right under my nose. Are you still operating?" asked Sullivan.

"We're on stand down at the moment. London hasn't told us what to do with everything yet. I think they're waiting until the war is over in case we have to start up again."

"So tell me the truth: was this really such an escape-proof camp?"

"Oh no, sir. We had to keep Klink's perfect record so he'd remain the Kommandant. As long as he was in charge, we could keep the operation running. Colonel Hogan had implemented a no-escape order. We had to try to keep up appearances but we always made sure we were caught and brought back. Really, we were going in and out of camp sometimes several times a night."

"I'm glad you shared this with me, Sergeant. It explains much of the conflicting behaviour and reports I've seen since arriving here. Did Colonel Klink ever know what went on here?"

"Nope. He doesn't know a thing."

* * *

Captain Hans Pfeiffer breezed through the open door of Captain Strauss' office, nose buried in some documents he had in his hands.

"Erlich," he called, looking up finally as he neared Hogan's desk. "I need… never mind what I need, you look like you need a drink!"

Hogan grunted in response. He had had a particularly harrowing day, beginning with his meeting with Hitler that almost ended badly for his assignment. Then he had discovered his President had died, leaving an unknown in the form of Truman in his stead. Hogan wasn't sure what it would mean for the war. Surely things were far enough along that Germany would continue its crumbling descent, even if it was the Soviets and Brits who made the final victory.

"I heard you made quite the impression on the Führer earlier. I think he's becoming rather fond of you," hinted Pfeiffer with a touch of jealousy.

"Just what I need – to be Hitler's Golden Boy!" said Hogan in a huff.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Pfeiffer with a frown.

"Well, no pressure or anything. And what happens next time when he expects me to pull a magic rabbit out of the hat and I don't have a clue?" Hogan shook his head. "I just pointed out what I thought could help, just like he asked me to. Nothing more, nothing less. I wasn't looking for any glory, favouritism, or anything like that."

"You're much too humble, Erlich," said Pfeiffer reproachfully.

"What do you need, Hans?" asked Hogan wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, hoping to close the subject.

"Nothing that won't keep until tomorrow. Grab your coat. We're going out!"

"I don't really feel like…" started Hogan in protest.

"Nonsense. After today, you need to recharge your batteries, live a little. I won't take no for an answer," insisted Pfeiffer.

"Alright!" conceded Hogan, throwing up his hands to stave off another round of 'convincing'. It was the end of shift and he did have to eat after all. "On one condition: we go somewhere other than the _Bier Stube_. If I'm going to live a little, we're going somewhere new." The last thing Hogan needed tonight was to run into Hochstetter.

* * *

A/N: I don't have to tell you that in real life it was Heinrici who came up with the plan to flood the plain and not Hogan, do I? Nope, didn't think so.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, born January 30, 1882, was the 32nd President of the United States. He was reportedly in very bad health in his later years and suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage at 3:35 pm on April 12, 1945. The general public were not aware of his health issues and so news of his death was received with great shock. Roosevelt had held the office of President for 12 years and saw the US through several crises, including the Great Depression and most of WWII.


	20. Chapter 20: April 15

April 15, 1945

"Open up!" came the call from outside the barracks door along with an accompanying thud as the door was kicked gently in an attempt to knock.

The door swung wide to allow three soldiers carrying cartons to enter Barracks 2. The men deposited their load on the central table.

"Thanks! Those were getting heavy," said one.

"Enjoy!" said the second with a snicker as the three soldiers moved to head out of the building.

"Blimey, wot have we got 'ere?" asked Newkirk, opening the first crate and holding up a can with an 'M' stamped on top. Baker was rummaging through the second box and held up a similar can marked with a 'B'. LeBeau had a third carton with cans marked 'AP'.

The third soldier stopped, letting his buddies go ahead without him. "Those would be your C-Rations, sir," he said, standing by the open door.

"Is that what they are?" asked LeBeau. "They expect us to eat this?"

"Eat what?" asked Carter as he strolled in.

"These lovely little gems this gentleman and his friends 'ave bothered to drop off for us," replied Newkirk, waving his can around and indicating the soldier by the door.

"Oh, hey, fellas! I see the C-Rations have arrived," said Carter, taking note of the cases on the table. "Major Sullivan told me they were being distributed. Now that the main camp rations have been pretty much depleted, everybody's supposed to get an 'M' can, a 'B' can, and an 'AP' can for each meal."

"Did he also tell you what the letters were for?" asked Baker.

"Uh, no he didn't," admitted Carter, scratching his head.

"The 'M' can is the main course, the 'B' can is dessert and the 'AP' can is the Accessory Pack," came a timid voice from the door. Everyone turned to look at the soldier speaking.

"Who are you?" asked Carter.

"Private Perkins, sir!" said the soldier with a salute and a little too much enthusiasm. "Sorry sir, I was just dropping those off like I was ordered and then no one seemed to know what to do with them so I thought I'd help a little but I should go and catch up with the other guys cuz I'm suppose to be helping deliver more of those to the other barracks and I don't want to get in trouble..."

The guys just stared at Perkins.

"Blimey! He's another Carter!" exclaimed Newkirk.

"Hey! What's that suppose to mean?" asked Carter in a huff.

"Nothing, Andre, just that you use to talk a lot, and a lot like that too," said LeBeau with a smile.

"So, Perkins… You've obviously had these before. Any idea what's in the 'M' can?" asked Baker, getting back to business.

"Yeah, we eat them all the time, sir. Gets a little tiring of the same stuff but it's better than going hungry, especially when we're on the move all the time and there's no Mess. There are three different meat courses. They're on the can label."

"You mean these ones?" said Newkirk, holding up a pile of labels which had come off, leaving the contents of the cans unknown.

"Uh, yeah, that happens a lot too. Sometimes you can end up having the same meal three times in a row – just the luck of the draw, sir," said Perkins.

"Bloody marvellous! And just 'ow the 'eck are we supposed to get into these lovely excuses for dinner?" said Newkirk.

"Use the can opener, sir," replied Perkins, as if it was obvious.

"What can opener?" asked Baker, searching through the carton, thinking it was at the bottom.

"The one in the accessory pack, sir," said Perkins as if it was obvious.

"The accessory pack is a ruddy sealed tin," said Newkirk with exasperation. "Only the Yanks would package the can opener _inside_ the bloody can!"

"That's why you need someone with one of these, sir," said Perkins, holding out his dog tags. Threaded on the chain was a can opener. "Kinda thought you might. It's a joke between the old guys and the rookies; they try to make the new guys get into the AP can without help. Figured you Air Corps guys wouldn't have had to rely on rations so wouldn't have your openers. We string 'em on our tags so they don't get lost."

"Thanks, Perkins. You Army guys are alright," said Carter.

* * *

Two days had passed and the preparations continued for the Battle of Seelow Heights. Hogan had had no more meetings with the Führer, which made him very happy and gave him the opportunity to regain his mental footing in portraying Strauss.

Reports continued to come in, telling of a seemingly never-ending list of ground being lost to the Allies. Bergen-Belsen concentration camp was liberated by Canadian and British forces.

Brief cheers broke out at the victory reported south of Magdeburg; an attempt by the American forces to cross the Elbe River had been thwarted. A second attempt was also pushed back with almost as much success.

Whispers and rumours were flying around the Reich Chancellery by late afternoon. Someone had spotted Eva Braun, the Führer's fiancée, going to Hitler's private chambers. She was supposed to have remained in Bavaria but had defied the Führer's wishes and came to Berlin. Speculation ran wild as to what Hitler's reaction would be.

Pfeiffer and Hogan were working out plans for the duration of the Battle of Seelow Heights. On the surface, it looked like the Germans had no hope of holding the line: they had only a hundred thousand men compared to the Soviet's million. The Germans were substantially out gunned by tanks (five hundred versus three thousand) and artillery as well. But the Germans had the advantage of the terrain on their side and General Heinrici's defensive tactics to back them up. Pfeiffer and Hogan both believed the battle would last several days and made arrangements accordingly.

Hogan would be working directly with communications and Pfeiffer would be relaying to the Führer. In this way, only Hogan and Pfeiffer had to co-ordinate; a vast improvement over previous times because Pfeiffer had been relying on communications to relay information to him. Hogan was pleased he had been able to put himself in the middle of the communications link. With his ability to forge Pfeiffer's handwriting, Hogan would be able to manipulate any messages coming in or going out, as long as he had the time and privacy to do so. Hogan had stashed some official forms in a store room between the communications room and where he would meet Pfeiffer with the orders.

They had the opportunity to test their new system when Hogan was setting things up in the radio room. General Heinrici wired in a message reporting preparations were going well and his troops would be ready. He also was asking for permission to move his Army Group HQ to a new site closer to Berlin. Hogan was able to change the wording such that Heinrici's new site was to the rear of Berlin, thus placing Hitler's bunker between Heinrici's HQ and the Soviets. Pfeiffer relayed Hogan's modified message to the Führer. Hitler hotly refused Heinrici's request.

Another Soviet soldier captured at Küstrin reinforced the previous intelligence of Stalin beginning the Oder offensive the next day. With everything prepped and ready, all that was left to do was sit and wait for the attack to begin.

* * *

A/N: Heinrici had decided if the Oder campaign failed, Berlin should be abandoned, quite contrary to Hitler's beliefs. To that end, Heinrici wanted to set up his Army HQ to the rear of Berlin in preparation for Berlin to be given to the Soviets but still be in a position to take it back if possible. Hitler forbade Heinrici from moving his HQ without discussion.


	21. Chapter 21: April 16

April 16, 1945

The attack began at 05:00.

The Russian artillery barrage thundered up and down the Oder and Neisse Rivers, bombarding the German front ranks. However, Heinrici was ahead of the game and had moved most of his troops back, thus the Soviets were bombing practically abandoned front lines and wasting valuable ammunition.

Hogan was relaying troop positions to Pfeiffer, who was in turn giving the information to the Führer and Generals in the War Room. No orders were being passed back as yet; the Chiefs trusting implicitly in Heinrici's defensive experience.

By 06:30, the Russian Army under Marshal Zhukov were pushing forward, crossing the Oder and engaging the Ninth Army at Frankfurt-on-Oder and the Fourth Panzer Army on the Neisse front.

Orders came from the War Room to launch the Luftwaffe offensive. Sixty planes were scrambled, all that could be with the aviation fuel plants currently in Allied hands. Not much was available for shells either, as the ammunition plants were also under Allied control. The planes were ordered to take out the bridges over the rivers where the Soviets were crossing in droves. With limited resources on hand, the Luftwaffe relied on suicide runs to accomplish their mission, crashing some of their planes into the bridges to stop the Russian advance.

The attack continued the entire day. The swampy ground flooded by Hogan's idea proved to be a great hindrance to the Soviets and the Germans unleashed a counter-barrage that resulted in enormous losses for the Russians. The Soviets were forced to call in their reserve troops the first day and redirect their tank troops from the south to aid in the campaign.

By nightfall, the Soviets had gained as much as two miles in some areas, but the German lines still held, despite being lower in man-power and resources than the Russians. The Germans had managed to destroy over three hundred enemy tanks that day but things were still weak to the southeast. Marshal Konev's Soviet Army Group were also angling up towards Berlin, rather than heading to Prague as Hitler had hoped.

Hogan and Pfeiffer were exhausted, having spent the entire time relaying and coordinating troop movements for the Chiefs of Staff. They were on-call for whenever the Soviets decided to restart the offensive again, and decided to bunk in the Reich Chancellery dorms for the night.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Hochstetter opened the door to the _Bier Stube_ once again. Ever since catching a glimpse of the man he believed to be Robert Hogan, Hochstetter had made an effort to visit the establishment on a regular basis, hoping that he would spot the man again.

As he entered, he took a quick look around, checking the crowd for a familiar face as well as looking for an empty table. There was one particular table that he favoured as he could keep an eye on both the front door and doorway that led to the back exit. Noting it was empty, the Gestapo man worked his way around other tables to take up his position of surveillance for the evening. He eased himself into the chair so his back would be to the wall, still studying all the patrons' faces.

"Herr Colonel, how good to see you again." The woman's voice near him broke Hochstetter's concentration. Continuing, the pretty barmaid said, "What can I get for you tonight? Your usual?"

"Ja," bit out Hochstetter, not caring to engage the waitress in conversation as she was of no concern to him. She turned and left his table, heading to the bar to fetch his one and only beer for the night. She quickly returned with it and Hochstetter threw down a few marks on the table. "Danke."

Liesl went and tended the other customers in the bar. Throughout the evening, she stole glances at the Gestapo Colonel and observed him patiently sipping his beer, making it last. He was obviously watching and waiting for someone, although who it was she would never dare to ask. Almost every day, the Colonel had visited the establishment, starting about a week ago. He never came in at the same time, but always had a single beer and no food. She was beginning to be able to gauge how long he would stay by how fast he drank his draught. Tonight, he was early and drinking extremely slowly, so she knew the man would be here for several hours. Liesl had learned very early on not to disturb the Gestapo man once he had his evening's beer. He was constantly scanning the crowd, noting people as they came and went, scrutinizing their appearance. Their eyes met across the room briefly as he once more swept the room with his gaze and Liesl felt shivers tingle down her spine.

Finally around nine, Hochstetter downed the rest of his ale. Once it was gone, Hochstetter quickly rose and headed out of the restaurant. Clearing the glass and wiping the table, Liesl relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief that he was gone.

* * *

General Albert Burkhalter was dressed in civilian clothes for one of the few times during the entire war. Throwing the last of his personal belongings in the case, he closed and fastened the lid before carrying it out to the trunk of his car. Going back into the house, he took one last look around for anything important he could have missed, wondering if he would ever return here again and who would end up with the property he was leaving behind. He had managed to pack some sentimental trinkets but most of his prized possessions were too large to fit in the car. Seeing nothing more he could take, he grabbed his Tyrolean hat from the hall stand and shoved it on his head before heading out into the night.

Burkhalter fired up his personal plain black car, thankful that he had kept it serviced even though he had been using his Luftwaffe-issued car on a regular basis. It wouldn't do to be driving around in an official vehicle where he was going. He had not brought a single thing that was official with him including his uniform. Easing the car down the driveway, Burkhalter kept to the back streets of Berlin as he made his way out of the city. Soon he was threading his way across the country, keeping to small towns, and often having to drive way out of the direct route to avoid pockets of fighting or known areas of Allied troops. It would be almost dinner time the next day before he successfully managed to join his wife at their ski chalet in Switzerland.


	22. Chapter 22: April 17

April 17, 1945

The war began again very early. A sergeant was called to scramble Pfeiffer and Hogan from their dorm room and report to their positions as the Soviets again began attacking en masse. Food was brought to them and they managed to eat a bite here and there between offensive strikes.

The Luftwaffe was once more forced into the air; Hitler insisted on using every available plane including the Messerschmitt jets to stop the Russians from taking Cottbus in the southeast. The autobahn bridges were destroyed, thus thwarting the Soviets once again.

* * *

It was late afternoon and Hogan was exhausted. He had spent the last two days living on adrenalin, coffee and the occasional bite of food. The sleep he had had was spotty at best; the cot in the dorm room reminding him more of the bunk at Stalag 13 than the bed to which he was now accustomed.

Hogan once more met with Pfeiffer for the handing off of orders. It was a tedious process, however the Germans insisted vocal orders wouldn't do; the orders had to be in hard copy for a paper trail to verify. Hogan marvelled at the paranoia which had been fostered into the German military culture; however it was this mistrust which allowed him to exploit the system. He took a quick glance around and slipped into the supply closet to read the latest command of the Führer.

Hogan knew the Fourth Panzer Army on the north flank was falling back under the Soviet attack. Scanning the hastily written missive, Hogan read the order for the two reserve Panzer divisions belonging to the German Army Group Center to reinforce the Fourth Panzers. Taking one of his official forms he had stashed a few days ago, Hogan rewrote the orders in Pfeiffer's handwriting directing the reserve Panzers to stay where they were.

Hogan looked at his handiwork and frowned. It didn't really match the original as much as he thought it should. He had to admire Newkirk and his skill with forgery; he just wasn't a natural like Newkirk was. Hogan had not practiced Pfeiffer's writing in a few days and already he could see the degradation in quality.

Getting out another form, Hogan tried once more to duplicate the script of the senior adjutant. Taking the extra time to get the looping and sloping of the letters correct, a few beads of perspiration forming on his brow, he tried not to worry about how much time he was wasting in the closet. The orders were meant to be issued immediately and were time stamped. If he didn't get them right this time, he would have to go ahead with the true orders.

Comparing the original and second copy, Hogan was finally happy with his work. The original order and first miscopy he shredded and stuffed into a seam he had opened in his uniform jacket. He'd dispose of the evidence as soon as possible, either by flushing it down a toilet or burning it once he got back to his hotel room.

Hogan cracked opened the door to the supply room, peeking to see if anyone was headed down the hallway. Seeing the way was clear, he slipped into the hall, quietly closed the door, and resumed his trek to the communications room. He handed over the new orders to the Sergeant manning the radio, who confirmed the validity of the orders and sent them out over the wire.

* * *

In the hallway near Hogan's supply room, a soldier watched as Captain Strauss entered the small closet. A few moments later, he saw Strauss exit. Once Strauss had continued on his way, the man went in to have a look around. Searching the enclosed space, the soldier didn't find anything remiss, but vowed to keep an eye on the Captain. It could have been an innocent case of needing an item from the closet, but judging by the way Strauss looked around, the man wondered if something more devious was afoot.

* * *

The commander of the reserve Panzer division acknowledged the order to stay with Army Group Center. History would report this as the turning point in the battle as the north flank continued to fail under the onslaught of the Soviets.

By the end of the day, the Army Group Center and Army Group Vistula's positions were tenuous at best and they were in danger of being enveloped; the failure of that simple move was endangering Heinrici's brilliant defence. Hitler was heard to blame Heinrici for the crisis, claiming he lacked enthusiasm for his job. Hitler then demanded the execution of any officer who ordered a retreat. Hogan smiled when he read the command. He didn't feel the need to change that particular order at all.

* * *

"Raus! Raus! Raus! Everyone out for roll call!" Newkirk bellowed as he entered the barracks where the Germans were being held. He stood in the center of the room with a large grin on his face while he watched the room empty as the men filed outside to be counted.

"Come on Schultzie! Shake a leg! Commandant doesn't like to be kept waitin' ya know!" called Newkirk as the rotund former guard trundled past. "You've done this enough times to know 'ow it goes!"

Schultz rolled his eyes as he passed the Englander, herding the men out of the barracks and into line. Then he dutifully took his place in the front and then waiting for the commandant to appear.

Newkirk went up and down the ranks of men, formally counting each one.

"One, two, three, four…"

"Six" piped up the next German in line.

"Five," corrected Newkirk. "Six, seven, eight, nine…"

"Nein, nein, ten, not nine, ja?" the next former guard tried to throw off his count.

"Awlright, you lot. I've been to more roll calls than you can count. I know all the tricks 'cuz I've done most of 'em meself, so just knock it off already!" said Newkirk in exasperation. Finally he got to Schultz.

"You got some 'jolly jokers' there, Schultzie," said Newkirk as he waited for Major Sullivan to appear. "Guess we managed to teach 'em a few tricks over the years. Feels a bit odd bein' on this side of the ole 'appell', ya think?"

Schultz was about to agree when Major Sullivan appeared.

"Corporal, perhaps you could refrain from aggravating the prisoners long enough to report please?"

Turning around, Newkirk offered a quick salute. "All prisoners present and accounted for, sir."

"Very good. Carry on," replied Sullivan as he moved to the next barracks.

"Right-o, then, chaps! Dismissed!" said Newkirk with a flourish.

_I could get to like this_, Newkirk thought with a grin, _I really could_.


	23. Chapter 23: April 18

_A/N: Language warning later in the chapter__._

April 18, 1945

The Oder Campaign continued for a third straight day. Both Russian fronts made progress against the Germans, reaching the third line of defence at Seelow Heights. Forst fell to the Russians. The battle for the Heights was fierce and long but in the end, despite monumental losses, the Soviets claimed the victory.

The Germans fell back to reinforce the fourth line of defence. Whatever happened tomorrow would seal the fate of Berlin and the Third Reich.

* * *

Doctor Stephen Hogan sat at his kitchen table, reading the headlines of the morning paper as he indulged in a second cup of coffee. He had late rounds to make at the local hospital and the afternoon to spend at his clinic, but for now he could take a few extra minutes to peruse Wednesday's Times.

His wife Mary was busy cleaning the house, dusting the knick-knacks around the living room. She moved the pictures on the mantle to swipe her feather duster over the varnished oak, pausing to look at the one of her three sons taken the last time they were all together, before Rob headed off to war. She placed a quick peck on each face in the photograph and hugged the frame to her chest, offering a quick prayer for their continued safety.

First Lieutenant Scott Hogan was still state-side. He was the youngest of the Hogan clan; a surprise addition to the family when Mary had found out she was expecting at age 38 after a couple of miscarriages. Scott had enlisted last fall upon reaching his 18th birthday, had completed his basic training and was finishing his specialized training. There was a strong possibility he would be deployed overseas by the end of next month.

Captain Thomas Hogan, a handsome young man who was now almost 30, was already overseas – had been since the spring of 1942. He had seen plenty of action, first touring in Italy and then later redeployed to France when his Army platoon had been sent to help with a large invasion known as D-Day in 1944. He had managed to survive with only a few grazes; bad enough to win him a Purple Heart, not bad enough to keep him from being sent back to the front. Currently, he was serving on the western front in France, pushing the Germans back inch by inch.

Colonel Robert Hogan had been involved in the war long before the United States officially was. A career Army Air Corps pilot, he had been given command of the 504th Bomber Group in England back in 1941. It wasn't long after when Mary and Stephen had received their first telegram from the Pentagon, informing them their first-born son had been shot down and captured by the Germans, and interred in the most escape-proof POW camp in all of Germany – Luft Stalag 13.

Letters came fairly regularly from all three of her boys. Scott's were always filled with excitement, of new things he learned, and his eagerness to be with the fighting men. Tom's were much more somber, showing a weariness of the soul, sometimes speaking of friends he had lost, hastily written and often covered with dirt and soot from the front lines. Rob's were dull and straight-forward, more like a report than a letter, speaking of daily routine, poor conditions, a football game or some other activity to pass the time. Mary suspected Rob was protecting her from what the real conditions were like but even if he had wrote the full truth, it wouldn't have passed the censors. How she wished the war would end and she could have her boys back home.

She quietly placed the picture back on the mantle and finished dusting around the other family photos that included her other children: two girls who fit between the boys. Susan was her eldest daughter, being born between Rob and Tom. She was happily married and had two children of her own. Maggie had come a couple of years after Tom and she too was married with a son. They were a close-knit family, gathering every week for Sunday dinner together, picnics on the summer weekends, and popping in for visits during the week. Mary was proud of her family and they all loved each other dearly.

Mary moved to the front window to straighten the banner she had made and hung with pride. A white banner with red edging, it now held three blue stars, one for each of her sons serving in the war, with Scott's being the newest. Most of the windows around town had one on display. Some however, had gold stars in place over the blue ones. These belonged to the families in mourning; for gold stars meant their loved one had made the ultimate sacrifice and would not be returning from the war. The Hogans had been lucky, with only blue stars for almost four years.

Movement outside the window caught Mary's attention as a dull olive military car drove down the street. It was never a good sign and she wondered which one of her neighbour's families would be torn apart by the visit by the men in the vehicle. She sent a quick prayer of thanks when the car passed by their driveway. Losing sight of the vehicle as it continued down the street, she returned to her weekly cleaning.

About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Stephen, having finished his coffee and the paper, was in the front hall preparing to leave for the hospital. He swung open the door to be faced with three military men in their dress uniforms, one carrying a briefcase.

"Is this the Hogan residence?" the officer in front asked.

Too stunned to do more than nod, Stephen stared at the men.

"Who is it dear?" came the far off voice of Mary from the rear of the house. Footsteps on the linoleum floor announced her approach. Stephen moved aside to let the men in, turning to face his wife.

"No!" Mary gasped, dropping the duster as her hands covered her gaping mouth, her eyes wide as she started to tremble. The doctor in Stephen noted the immediate ashen-hue of her skin and rushed to her side, ushering her over to the living room sofa before she collapsed. The men entered and closed the door softly behind them. The officer with the briefcase sat in a nearby chair and waited patiently for the couple to collect themselves.

Mary's thoughts spun like a whirlwind, knowing these men brought tragic news to their family. _Scottie?_ No, she was sure her youngest would not be the reason for the men in her living room, unless there had been some bizarre training accident. He would have been the safest of her three sons. _Tommy?_ A strong possibility since he was frequently on the front lines, but his letter which arrived yesterday had indicated he was going to be pulled back for recuperation. She knew from friends who had been paid similar visits it was often four to six weeks before the family was notified their loved one was gone. _Robbie?_ It couldn't be her oldest either. She had also received a letter from him just a couple of days ago, although it was dated in March and wished her a Happy Easter. Rob was in a prison camp sitting out the war – a prison camp that had been liberated a not even two full weeks ago. Mary had clipped the article out of the newspaper and remembered reading no lives had been lost. She had been thrilled her son would be free and had hoped to hear from him again shortly. Surely this had to be a mistake.

Regaining her composure, the colour returning to her cheeks, Mary clasped her husband's hands tightly. Continuing to take a few more steadying breaths, she met Stephen's eyes and nodded that she was ready to face this. Steeling herself, Mary focused on the man whose news would devastate her soul.

"I know our appearance is often disturbing, so first, let me verify you are Dr. Stephen and Mary Hogan?" began the officer, looking from one to the other.

Stephen found his voice and softly confirmed, "Yes, we are."

"My name is Captain Wainwright and I've been sent by the Pentagon. We regret to inform you…"

"Which one?" interrupted Mary, her voice a whisper. Louder and stronger, she repeated, "Which one? Which one of my boys isn't coming home?" A single tear trickled its way down her cheek, eager to be the first of many shed upon this day.

Wainwright searched the mother's face for forgiveness. This was not a duty he enjoyed, bringing grief to families all over the country. It was a duty he had carried out too many times already. It was a duty he performed to honour the fallen, to look after those who remained when their loved ones no longer could.

There was a tense moment of silence. Wainwright cleared his throat. The Hogans held each other and their breaths.

"Robert, ma'am…" replied Wainwright.

Two hearts shattered. A family splintered. Tears fell in torrents.

* * *

"First Lieutenant Scott Hogan reports as ordered, sir!" The young man with raven hair came to crisp attention in front of the desk of the base commander. He briefly considered which of his pranks he was being called onto the carpet for this time. Usually he only had to report to his squadron commander when his high jinks got him in trouble. He wondered if his mischief-making had got him in serious hot water this time but any nervousness he had was well-hidden behind his 'soldier face'.

"At ease, Lieutenant," answered the Colonel, shuffling a few papers on his desk. "In fact, take a seat."

"Yes, sir," replied Scott, dropping into the nearby chair. _This must be serious if he's asking me to sit._

The Colonel sat back in his chair and contemplated the young man before him. Hogan had been an impressive recruit with an aptitude for the Forces. He had graduated at the top of his class before taking specialized training. The Colonel regretted having to break this news him and hoped it wouldn't affect the remainder of his studies.

"I've called you here on a rather serious matter," began the Colonel.

_Keep it calm. Don't give anything away. They're probably fishing for who did 'it'. Don't offer anything until you know which bit of monkey business they're accusing you of,_ thought Hogan. His palms started to sweat but he remained perfectly still.

"There is no easy way to tell you this, so I'll be frank. We had word from the Pentagon this morning. Your brother, Colonel Robert Hogan, was executed on April 1st at the Luft Stalag where he was interred. I'm sorry, son," said the Colonel.

Scott Hogan sat there with a blank look on his face. _Rob? Dead? How is that possible?_ Scott's thoughts buzzed in his head like a swarm of bees. Shock hit him full force. Rob was his hero. He had always wanted to follow in his brother's footsteps so as soon as he turned 18, he enlisted. There was such an age difference between them that often Rob was more like a surrogate father than a brother. Scott had always been glued to his older brother whenever he was home on leave, following after him even when Scott was still in diapers. Memories flashed through his head; Rob teaching him how to swim and how to throw a baseball, the time Rob let him drive the car on the back roads despite the fact Scott was only twelve, motorcycle rides to the corner store for ice cream even though Mom had said it would ruin his dinner, spying on Rob and Emily Parsons behind the woodshed at the family cottage and learning so much more than what they taught in school. Slowly Scott became aware of the Colonel speaking to him again.

"…Rob Hogan was a good man and an even better aviator. I had the pleasure of training him myself. He will be missed. You'll be granted a two week leave to return home for bereavement. Then you'll be expected to return to base and catch up with your training to graduate with the rest of your class. You're scheduled to be deployed to the Pacific at the end of May. Go pack your bags, Lieutenant. Your ride leaves in one hour. Dismissed."

Hogan rose from the chair and half-heartedly remembered to salute before leaving the office. He managed to return to his barracks on autopilot, not really being conscious of his surroundings. When he met with his bunkmates, he spilled the news of his brother's death between trips to his footlocker to pack his duffle. They stood on the steps of the barracks and wished him well as Scott headed to the compound to meet the car taking him to the train station.

Two hours after being told the devastating news, Scott was on a train bound for Bridgeport. The skies overhead darkened and soon the clouds broke in a downpour, fat splotches of water hitting the window beside his seat. He stared out the window, not at the passing scenery, but at the blurred reflection of his face in the glass; a face so similar to the brother he just lost. As the train rocked back and forth in its journey to get him home, Scott's eyes began their own downpour, trailing rivers down reddening cheeks and dripping fat splotches on his pristine uniform.

* * *

"Hey, Captain!" Thomas Hogan turned at the shout by the approaching soldier. "The Major's lookin' for ya!" The soldier hooked his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the building being used by the platoon as their temporary headquarters. "Sent me to relieve ya. Just got a dispatch, may be somethan' import'nt came in."

"Thanks, Hollister. Catch you at Mess later?" asked Tom, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder as he passed the other man.

"Yeah sure, you betcha!" grinned Hollister, who started whistling as he resumed Hogan's patrol.

Hogan made his way up the debris covered road of Magdeburg. Gravel and large chunks of concrete from demolished buildings littered the path and made it virtually impossible to walk in a straight line. Reaching the abandoned building that had once been a lawyer's office, he nodded to the corporal on sentry at the door who snapped to attention as he entered. Making his way to the back office, he found Major Daniels seated at the ornate wooden desk. Leaving his rifle leaning against the wall by the door, Captain Hogan plopped himself into the waiting chair and put his feet up on the desk.

"Hollister said you wanted to see me?" asked Tom, enjoying the sensation of sitting down after several hours of being on patrol.

"You know Tom, it wouldn't hurt you to show a little respect around here," said the Major with mock sternness.

"Aww, come on Mark, not that old line again? You know I do it in front of the men, but it's just the two of us in here. Cripes, I've known you since I was five, chasing after my sister with that snake you found at the church picnic."

"Yeah, well, you know I've got to try to enforce some discipline around here," said Daniels with a ghost of a smile on his lips, use to the familiar banter.

"So, you just giving me a break from patrol or you actually want to see me about something? Hollister said new dispatches were here."

"That big mouth." Daniels sighed. "Yeah, we got a priority message. It's not good news."

"Problems on the front? Germans coming this way again? I thought we pushed 'em back real hard this time. Certainly seemed in disarray…"

"No, no. No problems with the Germans. It's personal." Daniels paused and tried to find the right words but nothing came to mind. He'd been hoping it would take Hollister longer to find Tom. "Look man, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. It's a bit of a shock."

"Come on Mark. You're scaring me here. At least let me know what the hell you're talking about."

"It's Rob," said Daniels quietly, studying his fingernails and avoiding looking at the man across from him.

"Rob? As in my brother Rob?" Tom's eyebrow's climbed up his forehead.

"'Fraid so. There's no easy way to say this. Tom, Rob's dead." Mark looked up and held his breath, waiting for Tom to explode.

"Dead? When? How?" demanded Tom. His feet hit the floor with a loud thunk as he sat upright in the chair.

"According to the dispatch, it was April 1st," hedged Daniels.

Tom's eyes narrowed as he considered his friend. "You didn't answer the 'how' part. He was supposed to be safe in a Stalag south of here. I was hoping we'd be sent that way and I could find him and bring him home."

"Firing squad. They executed him."

"'They'? The Luftwaffe?" Tom asked incredulously.

"No. Gestapo."

"_Gestapo_," breathed Tom, closing his eyes tightly, fists clenching. "Why?" he demanded. The fire in his eyes when they snapped back to Mark caused the man to wince.

"Doesn't say. Look, Tom…"

"No, don't say it." Tom's voice was gruff with anger.

"I have to. He was a great guy. I can't believe he's just gone like that. I know we should be used to it, the number of times the man next to you is here one minute and gone the next. But this is just so, so… out of the blue. I wouldn't have believed it if it hadn't come through official channels."

"So now what?" asked Tom sullenly.

"What do you mean?" returned Daniels with a furrowed brow.

"What happens now? Do I get to go home? Back to England?" Tom jumped up and started to pace, his anger growing. "Am I stuck in this god forsaken hell hole to grieve? Just 'soldier on' like nothing's happened? What do I do now? Tell me _Major_. My brother's dead. What the _fuck_ do I do now?" Tom rounded on the officer, both hands smacking down on the desk's surface as he leaned over it and glared at his commander, not seeing the man as his friend at the moment.

"Ease up, Tom," said Mark, trying to appeal to the friendship side of the man before him. Mark could understand Tom's anger, had a healthy dose of it himself at the moment.

"No! Those bastards killed my brother and I want to see every last one of them just as dead as he is!" raged Tom.

"That's enough, Captain!" snapped Daniels, rising out of his chair to face the angry man. "As you were."

The soldier in Tom instinctively dropped back into the chair again at the Major's command, but his anger simmered just under the surface.

"I'm taking you off patrol for the time being. Unfortunately, I can't send you home but I can give you a little leeway. We're supposed to be staying in this area for probably at least a week. This building's been deemed architecturally sound by the Engineering Corps. There's an abandoned apartment up top that's undamaged. Why don't you go up there and take some time? Come to grips with this, grieve in private. When you're ready, I've got a bottle of whiskey stashed away. We can toast Rob and reminisce a bit…"

Tom's anger deflated as Mark talked, his throat starting to tighten as he began to believe the news he had been given. Rising slowly this time from his seat, his eyes misted over, Tom accepted the one-armed hug across his shoulders from his best friend as Daniels directed Hogan around the desk. Mark gave Tom a copy of the dispatch, which he shoved into a pocket. Wearily, Tom trudged to the office door, pausing to rest a hand on the knob.

"Thanks, Mark," he said, his back to the other man, head bowed and propped against the door, "I'm really glad it was you who told me."

"I just wish I didn't have to tell you at all," Daniels said with regret.

"Yeah, me too," said Tom as he straightened up and exited the room.

* * *

The neighbours left the Hogans in peace for the day despite their curiosity. They had seen the military car sitting in the driveway for most of the morning. They watched quietly from their house windows, wondering what sad news had been delivered to the doctor and his family. They burned up the phone lines to spread the word when the military arrived and left, when Maggie and Susan appeared, and again when Dr. Hogan went out and returned with Scott still in full uniform.

Inside the two-storey clapboard house, hugs and tears were shared and traded throughout the day. The shock, anger, and denial phases were passed through, recycled and passed through again, with the focus being on Mary who was being far too stoic in helping her children deal with their loss and not confronting her own.

When Mary took down the banner from the front window, Maggie and Susan protested their mother doing that deed today and both insisted they be the one to do it to spare her the grief. Mary adamantly refused, insisting this would be one of the last things she would do for Rob. It was all she had to fuss over since his body would remain in Germany.

Mary made the stitching of the gold star into a ritual and an outlet for her grief rather than the necessity her daughters saw it as. She sat in the corner of the living room, slowly putting each stitch in with care, remembering something special about her son with every one. His first steps, his first lost tooth, his first day at school, when he broke his arm trying to fly off the cottage roof in some crazy contraption he built and tried to call an airplane, high school graduation, how proud she felt the first time she saw him in uniform, the flowers he always gave her on Mother's Day, the little ways he showed his love to his brothers and sisters. The star was not very big, but there were plenty of extra stitches holding it on tight. Finally, her grief expended for the day, she knotted the thread and hung the banner with its new gold star in the window for the world to see.

The neighbours had watched the banner disappear and waited impatiently for it to be rehung, knowing when it did, they would have their answer. When at last it did appear, with its new gold star shining from the top position, the phone lines once again sprung to life as everyone in town learned Colonel Robert Hogan wouldn't be coming home.

* * *

One neighbour in particular made an interesting phone call. Using a pre-arranged signal, the call connected to a U-boat waiting in the depths off the New England coast. From there, the message was relayed until it reached a certain Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel's office in Berlin. The resounding 'Bah!' and slamming of the phone caused the picture of the Führer to once more go askew to the vexation of poor, overworked Captain Grüber.


	24. Chapter 24: April 19

_A/N: __This one's a bit intense…_

April 19, 1945

The Soviets broke through the fourth and final line of defence between Seelow Heights and Berlin. Some remnants of German formations still fought bravely and pestered the Russian advance. The Ninth Army still hindered from the Heights and the Fourth Panzers offered a few pockets of resistance but the way was open for the Soviets to head straight to Berlin.

* * *

The fighting done for today, Hogan and Pfeiffer stood wearily before a member of the General Staff.

"You both have done tremendous work during this battle. Go now and take some time to have a good meal and get a decent night's sleep. I expect the next few days will be dark times indeed. Dismissed, gentlemen."

* * *

Hogan and Pfeiffer entered the _Bier Stube_ and looked around for an open table. Spotting one near the back, they made their way through the early evening crowd. Pfeiffer flagged Liesl from across the room to indicate two beers. Sitting down, they perused what items were left on the menus while they waited for service. Many of the dishes could no longer be made as ingredients became harder to get.

Before long, Liesl arrived with their drinks and took their dinner orders. Pfeiffer offered a toast to the Führer to which Hogan had to raise his glass. Clinking the large mugs together, they each took a long drink.

"That sure hits the spot, especially after the last few days we've had!" said Pfeiffer. The men made small talk while they waited for their meals to arrive. After about twenty minutes, Liesl brought two plates of hasenpfeffer, a spicy rabbit stew, to their table. It made Hogan fondly remember Carter and his gonkulator. Pfeiffer ordered another beer, Hogan was still nursing his.

"So what do you think will happen now?" asked Pfeiffer, referring to the fact the Soviets had broken through at Seelow Heights.

"Hard to say," said Hogan around a mouthful. "It looks like they'll keep pushing to Berlin. We've nothing left to stop them. The next stand will have to be on the city outskirts. We were hopelessly outnumbered; it's amazing we stood as long as we did."

"Yeah, I just don't understand what went wrong. General Heinrici didn't seem to be in agreement with the Führer's orders. It's a wonder he's still in command." _And still alive_, thought Pfeiffer, popping a morsel into his mouth.

Hogan smiled to himself as he ate, having had much to do with Heinrici's behaviour. Outwardly, Hogan shrugged with indifference. "If the Führer dismisses any more of his command staff, then you'll find yourself in charge of the Army, Hans." Pfeiffer chuckled at the comment. "Seriously, there's going to be a severe lack of faith in command from the troops if Hitler keeps replacing everybody."

"Unfortunately, you are too correct. We have already had reports of isolated incidences in the outlying commands of our troops surrendering without a fight." Pfeiffer used a chunk of bread to sop up some gravy from his empty plate.

Once their meals were finished, the two men moved to the bar to free up the table for late diners. The crowd was getting heavier now, with civilians coming in to listen to the evening's entertainment. A group of locals had an amateur band playing in one corner and some patrons were dancing on the small dance floor. Hogan eyed the drum kit with longing, but knew his style of playing would cause too much attention. Too American for the Führer's tastes, definitely _verboten_.

Liesl was being run off her feet with the multitude of food and drink orders by the military patrons. She came by with another round of beers, moving through the throng with the ease of long experience. Hogan didn't get much of a chance to flirt with her tonight as she hurried away to answer the call from another table.

Hogan sipped his beer slowly, enjoying the music, Pfeiffer's occasional comment, and the atmosphere in the restaurant. He was occasionally jostled as someone pushed through the crowd. He wondered how much longer nights like this would be happening in Berlin; if these people had any clue how close the Russians were or if they cared, living only for the moment, grasping what happiness they could while they could. This was their home; they lived here and they would die here, some sooner than others.

A sharp jab near his ribs broke Hogan out of his musings, causing him to sit up straighter on his bar stool. A hand came down on his shoulder with a vice-like grip of steel.

"You should have stayed dead, Hogan," growled a voice in his ear. Hogan realized the pain he felt was the barrel of a gun pressing deep into his side. Alarmed, he twisted to see who had spoken and came nose to nose with Wolfgang Hochstetter.

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken with someone else, Herr Colonel," Hogan offered in his best German, trying to plant a seed of uncertainty in Hochstetter's mind. Hogan's heart pounded in his chest and his hands turned cold and clammy, but outwardly he tried to portray nonchalance, taking a slow sip of beer as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"You will not trick me this time. There is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind who and what you are, Hogan. I always believed you were the most dangerous man in all of Germany. I do like to be proved correct."

The intense conversation had caught Hans' attention. "Is everything ok, Erlich?" asked Pfeiffer, noting the Gestapo officer's grip on his friend. He could not see the gun Hochstetter held between himself and Hogan.

"Yes, Hans. This here is Wolfgang, an old…acquaintance from my previous posting," said Hogan, staring intently into Hochstetter's eyes, daring him to make the next move. There was no point denying who he was now; it was obvious Hochstetter wasn't going to be fooled, but he could try to minimize what Pfeiffer would find out. _Could his cover be salvaged?_

"Bah, this man is a spy, an American Colonel. He was a prisoner at Stalag 13, operating a sabotage unit…"

"This man is the SS Deputy Adjutant to the Führer!" exploded Pfeiffer. "He has the highest levels of security clearance. His background was thoroughly investigated. He…"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," interrupted Hogan. "May I suggest we take this somewhere a little less noisy and a lot more private?" Hogan wanted some room to manoeuvre. He had no hope of escaping with Hochstetter's weapon pressed up against him like this. Even if he managed to get away, there was a danger to the civilians if Hochstetter started shooting in the bar.

Hochstetter grunted in seeming agreement, so Hogan slipped off his bar stool and headed towards the back room and its alley door – the one he had used when he spotted Hochstetter after contacting Stalag 13. As Hogan reached back to retrieve his cap off the bar, Pfeiffer caught a glimpse of the gun the Gestapo man was holding on his friend. Pfeiffer's eyes went round as he gaped at the weapon. _How had Erlich managed to gain the attention of the Gestapo? _The shock caused him to freeze for a moment. _Do I want to get involved between Erlich and the Gestapo?_ Hans questioned himself. He considered the question very briefly before he too climbed off his stool to follow. Erlich was his friend and one who was in need of his help.

Just as Hochstetter and Hogan reached the back room, the air raid sirens began blaring their warning to seek cover. The sudden wailing was enough of a distraction for Hogan to quickly toss his cap in Hochstetter's face, causing the Gestapo agent to instinctively try to catch it. Hogan was able to pivot and knock aside the gun. It fell and skittered across the floor. The two men grappled and Hogan managed to force Hochstetter up against the wall. Hochstetter fought back and landed a solid punch to Hogan's stomach, causing the Colonel to fold over, winded. Hogan pulled himself up, determined not to let Hochstetter get the best of him. The scuffle continued, the two long-time adversaries fairly evenly matched, trading blows until finally Hogan managed to get in a strong upper cut which sent Hochstetter sprawling. Not wasting any time, Hogan grabbed his cover off the floor and ran out the door.

* * *

Berlin was under attack. Hogan could hear the drone of the aircraft overhead, the booming of the three massive anti-aircraft guns which protected the city as they continuously fired on the attacking bombers, and the explosions caused by the falling shells. Smoke and ashes filled the air making him choke and cough. Movement caught his eye and he glanced up, catching the profile of an RAF bomber as it flew overhead followed by a Luftwaffe Messerschmitt, guns firing in a staccato rhythm of death. In the grand scheme of things, however, these were the least of his problems.

Hogan had escaped out the back door of the _Bier_ _Stube_ when the attack began. As he ran into the alley, he had to decide whether to go left to the main street or right, deeper between the buildings. He figured the streets would be empty with people taking shelter due to the raid, leaving him an open target. Hogan chose right and attempted to disappear in the darkness and objects scattered throughout the alley. Hochstetter had recovered from Hogan's punch and was hot on his heels. Hogan caught the 'pop' 'pop' noise of a Gestapo Lugar being fired at him and knew Hochstetter had retrieved his weapon as well. Hogan zigged and zagged to avoid the deadly projectiles, trying to keep the obstacles that littered the alley between himself and Hochstetter's gun.

Hogan ran full-out down the darkened street. His foot wobbled as it caught on some uneven pavement and even as he tried to right himself, a particularly close shell exploded a few blocks away causing the ground to buckle. Hogan was knocked off his feet, falling against the building wall. His head impacted, sending his cap flying and stunning him for a brief moment. He instinctively brought his arms up to cover himself as a bullet pinged off the bricks just above his head and he was very grateful for the tumble that had saved his life.

Hochstetter took no time in using Hogan's stumble to his advantage. Running up to the fallen man, Hochstetter backhanded him, sending Hogan sprawling once more. Giving the Allied Colonel no time to recover, Hochstetter hauled Hogan to his knees and pressed his Lugar against Hogan's temple. Hogan was panting from his exertions, as was Hochstetter, coughing from the acrid smoke which blanketed the city. He reached up and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. The feeling of the cold steel against his skin was exaggerated by the heat in his flushed face. The sweat running down the middle of his back sent shivers up his spine.

Pfeiffer chose that moment to arrive on the scene, taking in the dire situation of his friend. He was certain the Lieutenant Colonel was wrong about Strauss being an Allied Colonel named Robert Hogan. Nothing Strauss had done would indicate he was anything other than a loyal member of the Nazi Party and proud officer in the SS. He was even favoured by the Führer!

Pfeiffer was still a fair bit back of the two men. He had got caught in the crowd when the air raid sirens went off and was delayed getting out of the building. Approaching carefully so as not to startle the man with the gun, he eased himself into Strauss's line of sight. Not sure what to do, Pfeiffer watched and waited to see what would unfold, hoping an opportunity would present itself so he could jump in and help his friend.

Hogan caught sight of Pfeiffer a few hundred feet away out of the corner of his eye. From his angle, Hogan could tell Hochstetter wouldn't know Pfeiffer was there. He wondered what his friend's intentions were. Hogan knew from where he knelt he couldn't fight back. Hochstetter was too far behind him to be able to grab the Lugar or knock the Gestapo man off his feet without the weapon firing. _Should he try regardless? Wait for Pfeiffer to make a move?_ His mind flipped over and discarded several possibilities. To sit and do nothing went against Hogan's nature and yet he was powerless in this position.

Hogan was distracted by the loud rumble of engines. He saw another RAF bomber directly overhead and wished he could fly away with them, back to the safe haven of jolly old England. He had always felt safer in the sky, in control of his own destiny, pitting his skill as a pilot against his enemies. Little did he know the plane would be his salvation.

"I knew I should have taken the headshot at your execution when I had the chance, Hogan," growled Hochstetter. He ran the barrel of the gun down Hogan's cheek in a sinister caress, causing Hogan to flinch involuntarily at the violation. Hogan could feel Hochstetter move the gun to the back of his head, nestling the barrel in his hair like a twisted lover waiting to give the kiss of death. "That traitor Norbert obviously set the whole thing up. I will deal with him once I'm finished with you. I'll dump your body at his feet as proof. I thought it was satisfying to command your firing squad but now you've given me the additional elation of executing you by my own hand. You do know how to fulfil a man's dreams. I only wish I could kill you again and again to carry out all my fantasies from over the years. Would it comfort you to know your family already believes you are dead? My sources inform me a gold star already hangs in your parents' front window. Time for me to make it true at long last. This time Hogan, you die _for certain_."

The clicking of the Lugar chambering a round echoed in his ear, louder than the bomber overhead and far more ominous. Hogan knew that even if Pfeiffer chose this precise moment to act it would be too late to stop Hochstetter's bullet from ripping through his brain and ending his life. He closed his eyes in resignation, thankful his death would be quick. He didn't have long to wait until his world exploded.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly. The blackness receded, giving way to a darkened view punctuated by a glowing red. _What had happened?_ His last memory was of Hochstetter standing over him, the feel of the Lugar against his head, and then being washed over by an immense shockwave which had knocked him over in the street.

Hogan moved slowly, testing to see if anything was broken, happy to find there wasn't. Above him, Hogan could make out the bluer shade of the night sky bracketed by the outline of buildings. He remembered he had been in an alley behind the _Bier_ _Stube_.

Sitting up cautiously, Hogan could feel a warmth trickling down the side of his face. He swiped at it with one hand, coming away bloody. He looked up the alleyway and spotted the limp form of Wolfgang Hochstetter. Crawling over chunks of debris, Hogan made his way to the fallen Gestapo officer. Hochstetter was deeply unconscious, sporting a long gash across his forehead which was bleeding freely. He also appeared to have a broken arm, judging by the way it bent unnaturally between the wrist and elbow. Hogan wasn't sure what other injuries his nemesis might have sustained which were hidden from sight. He reached for the pulse point on Hochstetter's neck, unsure if he was relieved or not to find one.

Hogan's ears were ringing, but when he saw no more planes and felt no more explosions, he realized the bombing had ended. He turned to look down the long alley to where the orange glow was coming from. Hogan gasped in shock and disbelief.

The sight which met his eyes was inconceivable. The _Bier Stube_ had been completely levelled by the bombing, the street beyond a gaping crater. The glow was coming from several fires which still burned brightly in the night. _If he had chosen to go left rather than right…_ The thought made him queasy.

A lump which looked suspiciously like a body was several hundred feet away from him. Hogan managed to pull himself to his feet, and staggered over to the form.

It was Hans. It had been Hans. Being so much closer to the blast, he had borne the brunt of the damage from heat and shrapnel. Hogan fell to his knees and reached to check Hans' pulse just to make sure, but as he suspected, there was none. It was a blessing in its own way. He hung his head as wetness dampened his eyelashes, surprised by the depth of his feelings for the loss of his should-be enemy/would-be friend.

Hogan thought of all the people who were in the restaurant; beautiful Liesl, her green eyes sparkling with enjoyment as she weaved between tables, the Berliners out for a brief bit of entertainment to brighten their dreary and uncertain lives, the soldiers who did not get the honour of dying in battle. He had been a bomber pilot once, dropping madness such as this from the skies without a thought of what it was like to be on the ground. _What strategic advantage was there in destroying a restaurant and the civilians inside?_

Hogan climbed to his feet. He took a few unsteady steps and braced an arm against the alley wall. Shock was settling in against the horrible things that had happened, his mind reeling over the turn of events that had played out this evening. Hogan's gut spasmed; vomit splashed the pavement.

He had to get out of here. Rescue crews would be responding to the crisis, digging through the rubble for bodies. There was no hope for anyone to have survived. There was nothing Hogan could do and he hated the sense of helplessness he felt looking at the wreckage.

Despair coated his soul. Hogan wanted to go home; wash his hands of the assignment, the war, his duty to his country. He wanted to escape while he could before the Soviets arrived, before he was caught in another bombing, before anyone else he knew could be killed. He wanted to be surrounded by those who loved him; exchange banter with the boys from camp, be teased by his siblings, comforted by his father, held by his mother. But home was not an option, and neither was returning to Stalag 13, so his mind settled on the next available refuge.

One goal now dominated Hogan's thoughts: to reach his room at the Hotel Adlon, assuming it was still there. With one single purpose in mind, Hogan worked his way up the alley, picking his way carefully over the unstable, scattered debris.

As he passed where Hochstetter lay, rage ignited a fire deep inside and quickly enveloped him, burning hot and bright. This man laying before him had hunted him down, dogging him year after year, accusing him of things that were true but had to be denied, threatening his men and their operation, refusing to believe his so-called death which was suppose to have been necessary to keep him safe. Intense hatred buried so deep Hogan hadn't consciously been aware of it came boiling to the surface, released after the onslaught of emotions unearthed by the turmoil faced tonight.

The rage built to a pinnacle and released itself in the form of a guttural yell as Hogan dropped to his knees by the unconscious and unsuspecting Gestapo man. His hands closed around Hochstetter's throat, the urge to seek vengeance by killing his adversary with his bare hands too strong to deny.

The loud crash from falling concrete as another wall of the _Bier_ _Stube_ collapsed was enough to shatter the red haze which had blinded Hogan. He broke off the attack on Hochstetter, appalled at the viciousness of his actions and the depth of his hatred. He scuttled back from they body and sat on his haunches, staring at his shaking hands, panting from his exertions. Tears streamed down his face from the intensity of the emotions he was experiencing. He looked at Hochstetter's face, which was slowly returning to red from the purple hue it had taken on during the strangling.

Hogan bent over the body once more and checked Hochstetter was alive and breathing, this time exceedingly happy to find the man still lived. Hogan felt fortunate that during the course of the operation he and his men had never had to kill in cold blood, although the idea had been considered and discarded on several occasions. Now however, was not the time to begin. It wasn't who he was or what he truly believed in. It was what he was fighting against, despite the SS uniform he was currently forced to wear.

Hogan rose and backed away from where Hochstetter lay. It would be better to leave before Hochstetter awoke. The rescue teams would see he got medical treatment.

As he turned to walk away, hoping never to see Hochstetter again, he found his SS cap perched on a pile of debris. The symbol of his double life sat there and mocked him in the blood red glow of the fires. Hogan stared at it for a moment, debating taking up the mantel again, warring with himself between sense of duty and thread-bare emotions. Finally, he scooped it up, brushed it off and placed it on his head.

"Nothing in war is ever _for certain_, Hochstetter. Surely you've learned that by now," he said to the unconscious man, then disappeared into the night.

* * *

Hogan was still reeling when he returned to the Hotel Adlon. It was almost eleven when he stumbled his way into the hotel lobby. Across the foyer, Brigitta was locking up the restaurant, the last of her customers having left when the air raid struck around ten. Turning, her eyes spied the handsome officer she frequently flirted with over breakfast coffee. She noticed the paleness in his features and the shell-shocked expression on his face, the soot, dirt, and blood that marred his usually spotless uniform. She watched as he staggered over to the stairwell which led to the rooms above, his hands clenched into fists. She hurried over to intercept him before he could disappear up the stairs, certain he was in need of some kind of assistance.

"Captain Strauss!" she called as she crossed the reception area, her hand finding its way to Hogan's arm as she caught up to him, halting him in his tracks.

Hogan was slow to focus on the object that had stopped his ascent to his room. "Brigitta?" he rasped, his voice affected by the heavy smoke blanketing the city.

"Yes, Erlich. Are you alright? You seem to be in some distress…" Brigitta's concern radiated from her beautiful face.

"No, no. I am fine. Just fine…" Hogan trailed off, his weak protests not convincing the German woman in the least. He made to climb the stairs again, still seeking the sanctuary of his room.

"Please, Erlich, come with me. I will open the café and make you some coffee. When was the last time you ate?" Brigitta's inquiries muddled through Hogan's foggy brain. She grasped his upper arm and steered him across the lobby. He numbly watched over his shoulder as the staircase got further away, still fixated on reaching his room.

Unlocking the door and turning on a light, Brigitta settled the distraught man at one of the tables near the kitchen entrance, removing his cap and placing it on the table. Keeping an eye on him through the door, she slipped into the kitchen to make the promised coffee, also fetching a small tea biscuit which she put on a plate.

Hogan visibly sagged as he wearily collapsed into the chair. Trying to process what had happened, he sat staring at nothing, letting the events of the evening roll through his head. Soon, Brigitta had reappeared, hot coffee and biscuit in hand, which she placed before him and encouraged him to eat. Nibbling on the pastry, and sipping the hot coffee, the colour returned to his face. He began to come out of his stupor and take note of his surroundings.

Brigitta had been chatting away, maintaining a soothing patter of conversation about inane things which seemed to draw Erlich out of the place his mind had retreated to. She had brought a cloth and basin of warm water, washing the grime away from his face and cleaning the gash on his forehead while she talked, never asking what had happened to get him in such a condition.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, interrupting her commentary on the antics of the evening's customers. Their eyes met and Hogan felt his hand reach up to briefly cup her sweet face. "I appreciate everything you've done for me this evening."

Brigitta nuzzled the hand, longing for the touch, missing its warmth when it fell away. "I could not let you go to your room in the state you were in. You seemed quite lost. I would not wish anything to happen to my best tipper," she replied with a small, cheeky grin. When Hogan responded with a smile, her grin broke across her face.

"I have kept you quite late. I do appreciate what you have done for me, but surely there is someone waiting for you to come home. It is almost past curfew and you mustn't keep them worrying any longer, what with the air raid and all," said Hogan, clasping her hands and rubbing his thumbs gently over her knuckles.

"There is no one waiting any more. My husband was killed almost three years ago during the Battle of Dieppe in France, and now I live alone in a small apartment over a store a few blocks from here," Brigitta said, the bitter tone of sadness and regret colouring her voice. She sat quietly for a few moments, lost in thoughts of days past and Hogan was content to let her collect herself as he took several sips of his coffee. The moment passed and she seemed to come back to the present again. She smiled brightly. "It does not matter any more – I will always have memories but what is past is past and should not interrupt the future," she said firmly. A twinkle appeared in her eye. "There is however, the small matter of your bill," Brigitta teased.

Coming to life again, Hogan laughed and replied, "Of course. How much do I owe you?"

"The coffee and biscuit are on the house. The service however will cost you much more," Brigitta replied, her voice dropping enticingly.

"And how much will that be?" Hogan replied huskily. Leaning over, he placed a brief kiss on her waiting lips.

"That's a good start," she replied.

Hogan eyed her hungrily, knowing full well the emotional upheaval he experienced tonight was fuelling his desire but finding himself unable to resist. His hands found themselves on either side of Brigitta's face, sliding through her soft, silky brown hair as he crushed his lips to hers. Weeks of being undercover, alone and walking the thin line between safety and danger; years of solitude at Stalag 13, with only a few brief interludes to slake the loneliness; the confrontation with Hochstetter, the loss of Hans Pfeiffer; he _needed_ this _now_, tonight, and she was only too willing.

The frantic meeting of lips eased, breath was caught. Foreheads touching, eyes closed, noses rubbing, Hogan grasped Brigitta's hands as they rested against his chest and the damnable SS uniform he wore. She knew he was giving her a chance to back out. She wasn't going to let him.

"I believe you were on your way to your room, when I sidetracked you," she panted as her breathing slowed. "Perhaps we should go there now, Erlich."

"Are you sure?" asked Hogan, his voice low, laden with want and need, as he looked her in the eye, searching for any doubt in her decision. It was possible she needed this as much as he did in order to move on in her life. In reply, she rose from the table, and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the restaurant. He eagerly followed, his cap held loosely in his other hand, pausing when Brigitta stopped to shut off the light and relock the door. Finally they headed towards the stairs.

As they once again crossed the lobby, Hogan came even with her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Do me a favour?" he whispered in her ear, placing a chaste kiss against her hair. "For tonight, call me _Rob_…"


	25. Chapter 25: April 20

_A/N: __A few graphic references in this one_

April 20, 1945

Brigitta was gone when Hogan awoke the next morning, having wanted to leave before dawn to line up for rations. It was Hitler's 56th birthday and a special eight-day allowance was being handed out which included one tiny can of vegetables, a few ounces of sugar and a half-ounce of real coffee. No civilian could afford to miss rations of this generosity and the lines at the grocery stores were expected to be long.

Hogan stretched briefly but stayed in bed, propping an arm under his head, the other resting on his bare chest, as he stared at the ceiling. He lay awake, savouring the good memories of last night which had soothed the ragged edges of his soul, shying away from the earlier violence of the evening.

The joining upon reaching his room had been passionate and frenetic, fervent and immediate. As he and Brigitta lay entwined afterwards, they had talked about the future, the end of the war, and the possible fate of Germany. Then they made love once more, slowly, savouring each caress and reaction, living for the moment until both were thoroughly sated. Brigitta may have been a few years younger than him, but she was well-versed in the ways of love. Her husband had been a lucky man.

A sudden banging on his door startled Hogan out of his reverie, heart racing. _Hochstetter?_ His first thoughts were immediately of the man he'd left in the alley last night. But Hogan didn't think enough had been said to lead the Gestapo man here so quickly. Hogan jumped out of bed and hastily donned his pyjama pants.

"Who's there?" he called, approaching the door and flicking on the main light.

"SS," came the reply.

Hogan knew Hochstetter wouldn't send anyone but Gestapo men to arrest him. Relieved but still cautious, Hogan cracked the door, noting the two SS soldiers with machine guns slung over their shoulders waiting in the hall. Swinging the door wide, he allowed the men to enter.

"Hauptsturmführer Strauss?" asked the guard. At Hogan's nod, he saluted and then continued, "You have been summoned by the Führer. We are to escort you to the Reich Chancellery with all your kit at once."

"What this is about?" Hogan asked briskly.

"Hauptsturmführer Pfeiffer was killed last night in the air raid." Hogan flinched at the bluntness of the soldier's words. He felt a pang of remorse in his heart at the mention of the demise of his friend. "You are the Führer's new senior adjutant and he has requested your presence immediately," finished the soldier. "Room has been made available for you in the Voss bunker. You will not be returning here any time in the near future."

Hogan shoved aside his emotions and easily fell back into command mode. "I must shower first," he stated firmly to the unlisted men.

"The Führer is not to be kept waiting, Captain," the corporal dared to say.

"And I will be ready as quickly as I can. You expect me to report to the Führer unshaven and unwashed?" retorted Hogan. "I will be 20 minutes. Wait in the hall."

True to his word, Hogan was showered, shaved, and dressed in a fresh uniform in under a quarter of an hour. His numerous quick changes at Stalag 13 had well-prepared him for that at least. He quickly filled his suitcase with his uniforms, pyjamas, shave kit, and other belongings, leaving nothing behind.

The soldiers ushered Hogan down stairs and out of the hotel. As he crossed the lobby, he caught sight of Brigitta returning to the café. He could see her gasp and her eyes widen at the men accompanying him. Fearing for him, Brigitta flew out of the restaurant and met him half way across the foyer.

"Erlich?" she questioned, not daring to voice more.

"It is alright, Brigitta. These are men from my office. There is an emergency and I must report to the Führer immediately. It's time for you to go, just as we talked about last night."

"I cannot go and leave you here," she replied, emotion causing her voice to crack.

"The Soviets threaten the heart of Berlin. It will not be safe here, even for civilians, _especially_ for civilians, if they break through. Please, Brigitta, you must flee the city to the southwest to be safe. These men will ensure I make it to the Reich Chancellery. My duty will be in staying there night and day until the enemy is pushed back. I do not know when or if I'll be returning…"

"Don't talk like that, Erlich. You must be safe," she said firmly, as if saying it would make it come true. Tears misted her eyes, but none fell.

"Nothing is certain. I am an important officer and if the Soviets win…" Hogan left the sentence unfinished as his head dropped. He grasped her hands and watched his thumbs rub gently over the backs of her hands. "Do not fret for me. I will be able to do my duty much better knowing you are safe. You must go now before the city is entirely cut off." Hogan looked directly into her eyes in an effort to convince her. "Please Brigitta, you must promise me you'll leave. I do not have much time. The Führer waits."

"Alright, Erlich, I will go home, pack a few things and leave Berlin as you have asked," promised Brigitta. "Will I ever see you again?" she asked hesitantly.

"I do not know. You were there when I needed you and I cannot thank you enough for everything you have done for me. Good-bye, Brigitta. Be safe."

He leaned in and gave her a kiss on her temple. Stepping back, he gave her a smile, and squeezed her hands, then turned and continued out of the hotel without looking back.

* * *

When Hogan arrived at the Reich Chancellery, he was immediately escorted down to the Voss bunker located under the dance floor of the Chancellery reception hall. The walls were grey, with a green stripe painted about five feet up the wall and trimming the doors. The floor was grey too, a flat tile which caused his footsteps to echo in the narrow halls. Hogan was shown into a small room that appeared to double as both quarters and an office. He dumped his suitcase on the army-issue bed and hung his spare uniforms in the tiny wardrobe. His shave kit he placed on the cupboard's shelf, thinking it was ironic he now had to share his bathroom, considering the first conversation he had had with Hitler.

The soldiers barely gave Hogan time to get that little amount situated before they escorted him to the Führer. He was taken through several passageways and a connecting hallway into the Führerbunker. The difference was immediate as Hogan's feet once again connected with more of the same lush red carpeting which covered the hall to the War Room. However the room he entered was not as big or as lavish as the one upstairs in the Reich Chancellery. Hogan recognized a few of the paintings and sculptures from above ground. They were obviously some of Hitler's favourites and had been moved underground to be kept safe from the expected attacks. The small conference room had a central table surrounded by a simple wooden bench. Hogan could see the table was covered with maps.

Hogan came to attention and gave the Hitler salute.

"Happy Birthday, Mein Führer," said Hogan to the small man pacing behind the table.

Hitler paused and gave Hogan the once-over with a critical eye. "You heard about Pfeiffer?"

"The guards mentioned when they collected me. He was a good officer. He will be missed," replied Hogan.

"A most unfortunate occurrence. You look like you took some damage as well," noted the Führer.

The cut over Hogan's eye had scabbed over nicely during the night, but he had also developed some light bruises from his scuffle with Hochstetter. "Nothing major, Mein Führer. Hans and I had dined together but were separated over the course of the air raid. I did not realize it would be the last time I saw him," he said regretfully.

"You will assume his full duties immediately." Hitler paused, considering. "Walk with me," ordered Hitler abruptly.

Hitler led the way through another passageway in the back of the conference room to a spiral staircase. They climbed up to a door which led outside to the garden behind the Reich Chancellery. Waiting for them were several Hitler Youth, dressed smartly in their uniforms, snapping to attention at the appearance of their Führer. The Reich Minister of Propaganda and Entertainment, Dr. Joseph Goebbels was also present with a photographer.

The air was thick with smoke and dust from the bombings and resulting fires which had burned long into the night. Hogan watched as the Führer presented the Youths with awards for bravery, the photographer happily snapping away, preserving the moment for posterity.

Hogan shook his head at the insaneness of it all. These boys were only fourteen years old! They should be running around and getting into mischief, playing sports, riding bikes, and going to school. Instead they were being praised for their bravery of 'volunteering' to join the SS in defense of Berlin; being given real guns with live ammunition and ordered to die for their Führer. In the brief trip from the Adlon to the Chancellery, Hogan had watched the soldiers rounding up every available man, woman, and child to stand and fight against the Soviets. Those who did not volunteer to fight were hung by the SS. Hogan had seen the bodies swinging from the wrought iron arms of the lamp posts as they traveled down the main street. Being one man, he was powerless to stop the madness despite his officer's rank. As his vehicle passed a group of new 'recruits', Hogan felt the hatred in their eyes burn him as they perceived him as one of the instigators of the roundup due to his uniform. He found himself shutting out the proceedings, a survival tactic to separate his feelings from what he was witnessing, trying to preserve the part of him that was still Robert Hogan.

In the garden, another set of troops awaited inspection. As Hitler did his due diligence, Hogan studied the surrounding area. It was probably a peaceful spot once, a place to come for reflection, fresh air, or to have a private conversation away from official or prying eyes. Not much was in bloom, the early spring flowers having finished and the late spring ones not yet opening their colour to the world. Hogan noted the perimeter wall was now punctuated with dugouts and piles of bazookas at the ready. Not a peaceful place any more.

Hogan's attention returned to the Führer as he spoke, assuring the soldiers the victory would still be Germany's and they would be able to tell their grandchildren one day of their glorious defeat of the enemy forces. Hogan wondered at Hitler's mindset; whether he truly believed the words he spoke or was only trying to inspire the men who would die at his command. He tried to put himself in their shoes: if Germany had been America, would he still be following orders? His pride in his country and military duty letting him believe victory was still possible if he just gave a little bit more? Tried a little bit harder? Would he be willing to give his life for the cause when defeat seemed so near? Hogan frowned at his inner musings. There was no way he would know the answer to those questions without actually living it. It was easy to carry on when you were on the winning side – everything seemed much more clear cut.

After the troops had been dismissed, Hitler took one last tour around the garden before heading inside. It would be the last time Adolf Hitler ever saw the sun.

* * *

The staff underground was drastically reduced in numbers to the bare minimum of secretaries, adjutants, guards, and the like. The Voss bunker housed the majority of the personnel in dorm rooms and also contained the communications station, mess, kitchens, lavatories, and other necessities. There were some private quarters for the upper ranks as well. Everything was stark and utilitarian in direct contrast with the contents of the Führerbunker.

The Führer had the most number of rooms, which included the office/conference room Hogan had been escorted to earlier. Hitler's private rooms consisted of a bedroom with army bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, and safe; and a low-ceilinged living room with desk, table, and hard sofa. A portrait of Hitler's idol, Frederick the Great, hung over the desk. Goebbels also had rooms and a study there, as did Eva Braun. There were two emergency exits in addition to the exit to the garden.

Hogan lay atop his bed in deep thought. He had gone to the Mess earlier for a late lunch and then toured the halls briefly, trying to learn his way around. There was not much to do in the bunker for amusement; no recreation hall or games room so Hogan had returned to his room.

He thought about taking a nap, weary from the events of yesterday and today and limited sleep the night before. However every time he closed his eyes, he was assaulted with images from the air raid and his horrific trip through Berlin.

The words Hochstetter had spoken when he had Hogan on his knees echoed painfully around his mind. _My sources inform me a gold star already hangs in your parents' front window..._

_Damn it!_ Hogan raged and flung one arm over his head to pound his pillow. He had fought not to have his family notified of this insane scheme but his own Brass had overruled him. 'Wanted to protect him,' they said. It hadn't worked. Hochstetter still came after him relentlessly, despite all evidence to the contrary. And it had damn near been the end of him as well. He knew he should have avoided the _Bier Stube_ but Pfeiffer had insisted. It was nearby and they were both exhausted and famished. It was also one of the only restaurants still open and Hans had a more-than-passing interest for Liesl.

Hogan sighed and rolled over on his side, thinking about his family. Back home, he could imagine his mother acting strong and firm, making sure Maggie and Susan were ok and Dad as well, not allowing herself the time to grieve properly. Scott would still have been in training. He was probably given leave and hopefully had been able to get home to help his parents and sisters cope. But then there was poor Tom. He was stationed over here somewhere on the front lines and wouldn't have his family members to support him. Robert prayed Tom wouldn't do something stupid like charging the Germans out of anger or being distracted by grief and let his concentration slip during a heated skirmish. Tom should not end up as the Hogan who wouldn't be coming home due to this lame attempt to protect his ass. Rob's eyes misted and he fought to rein in his emotions.

Then there was the other issue Hochstetter pointed out. Someone on the German's side had been watching his parents' house. There were spies in his own backyard – literally. The thought made Hogan's skin crawl to have Nazis observing his Mom and Dad. Rob had come to Europe to stop Hitler and his fanatics before they could set foot on his country's soil. He knew first hand what evil they could do. Now they were shadowing his family and there was no way to let anyone on his side know. He would gladly take on a hundred Nazis by himself or suffer unspeakable torture to protect his family, but he was trapped here in Hitler's bunker being Erlich Strauss every minute of every day and there was nothing he could do. Helplessness and frustration reared their ugly heads and he fought off their depression.

Hogan felt a tremor vibrate his bed. Earlier he had heard calls up and down the hallway that Berlin was suffering another massive air strike. Once in a while, a shell would land close enough to make his cot shudder. He wondered what would happen if a shell landed directly over top of the bunker. The thought of being buried alive was not appealing in the least.

Unable to sit in his quarters any longer, Hogan decided to wander around the bunker, despite the continued rumblings and occasional jolt which caused him to misstep and catch his balance. He hoped to wear off his pent up energy and distract his mind as he explored his surroundings, becoming familiar with the layout of the underground mini-city. Hogan traipsed back and forth, memorizing the twists and turns which would get him from various points A to points B, such as his quarters to the Mess. He also scoped out all the emergency exits.

At one point, he had to move to the side of the hallway as several women with suitcases rushed by heading towards the west exit. Recognizing one as Marta as she hurried past, he realized Hitler's secretaries were being evacuated. Hogan's thoughts briefly turned to Brigitta and he hoped she had made it out of the city okay. As the soldier escorting the ladies passed him, he gave Hogan a strange look. A shout came from down the hall and the soldier paused to hear the update that the roads were cut off – the secretaries were going to have to fly out once the shelling stopped. Having acknowledged the change in plans, the soldier caught up with the women and quickly herded them out of the bunker.

* * *

The soldier was honoured his Führer had chosen him to escort the secretaries out of the bunker. As he encouraged them to hasten down one of the corridors, he passed Hauptsturmführer Strauss. He remembered the odd behaviour of the Captain a couple of days ago, but although he had been watching, he never saw him doing anything else suspicious. The soldier supposed it didn't matter now, as he was leaving on a very important mission and shrugged it off as what it appeared to be: the Captain getting supplies from the closet. Someone caught his attention down the hall and changed his planned destination to the air field. All thoughts of Captain Strauss fled from his mind as he followed his orders to get the women to safety.

* * *

It was nearing time for the evening meal and although he wasn't too hungry, Hogan decided to make his way to the Mess once more simply for something to do. As he passed the entrance to the Führerbunker, he could see into the conference room. Only a handful of Generals and other chiefs were gathered around the table, an indication of those showing true loyalty and continued belief in their Führer.

The raised voices carried down the hall and Hogan had no trouble overhearing Hitler split his command, sending Großadmiral Karl Dönitz, head of the Kriegsmarine, along with half of the High Command staff to the north to set up headquarters in Flensburg near the Danish border. The rest of the High Command was sent to the south. Göring pleaded with Hitler to be allowed to leave for Berchtesgaden, which was granted but even from the hall, Hogan could tell Hitler was not pleased by the request.

Hogan didn't get a good look at everyone in the room, but he didn't see anyone who remotely looked like Burkhalter in attendance. He wondered what had become of the Luftwaffe General. In the grand scheme of things, Hogan supposed being head of POW camps which had mostly been liberated already was a very minor role. Burkhalter was not a line officer and wouldn't have been required to attend the strategy meetings anyway. At least he didn't have to worry about being recognized. He would have been difficult to avoid in such close quarters.

Hogan had paused long enough to be spotted and was immediately waved in to help with the blooming crisis. Dinner would have to wait.

Procedures had changed with the move underground. No longer were written orders required, with communications handled directly over the phone to the radio room which left Hogan unable to manipulate things as he had done previously. He would have to come up with a new plan.

Reports were flowing in constantly and the phone in the conference room was ringing off the hook. Hogan found himself answering it more often than not and relaying information coming in fast and furious. Soviet tanks were pouring through the gap between the Fourth Panzers and the Ninth Army. Hitler called for a counterattack to get the gap closed. Heinrici argued that the Ninth Army's right flank should be pulled back as it was in danger of being encircled by the Russians. Hitler made his opinion known vehemently and ordered Heinrici to hold his line; however Heinrici had already began to move the Ninth westward, a small piece of intelligence Hogan conveniently 'forgot' to pass on in the heat of the battle. Hitler continued to react as if the gap was being closed when in fact it was widening due to Heinrici carrying on with his own plans. By evening, word of the huge breach in the Fourth Panzers line had reached the Führerbunker, but it would come too late.

The remains of the General Staff recognized the breach could never be closed now and plans were brought forth to scrape together everything they possibly could towards Berlin's defense. Hitler stubbornly refused to leave Berlin; however he allowed much more of his staff, perhaps eighty in all, to flee overnight in one of the last flights to the south.

It was well after midnight when Hogan was dismissed and finally returned to his quarters for the night. Knowing he had to get some rest, he quickly changed and got into bed. It didn't take him long to fall into an uneasy sleep peppered with nightmares which kept him tossing and turning.

_It was hazy with smoke or fog, Hogan couldn't tell which, but he could see the vague outlines of buildings and knew he was in Berlin. He could see the shadows of other SS soldiers as they forced civilians out of their homes and into the streets to fight. He was dressed in his American bomber jacket and crush cap. Standing beside him was Hans Pfeiffer._

_Pfeiffer shook Hogan's hand then gave him a text-book salute, complete with heel click. "Congratulations Erlich. I am proud you have taken over my position as adjutant in my stead. You will no doubt serve our Führer well. Why do you insist upon pretending to be what you are not? Even your American family knows the truth: Robert Hogan is dead. Do not cling to the idea of him so! Embrace Erlich Strauss. Go and do your duty to the Fatherland. Our Führer will take you under his wing and you will grow to be more than you ever imagined. Heil Hitler!" Pfeiffer encouraged Hogan to walk towards the street and as he did, his Air Corps attire melted and merged into Strauss' SS uniform._

_Hogan became aware of another person walking beside him and found his Führer matching his pace. As they neared the main street, Hitler handed sheet of paper to Hogan/Strauss, an order which he quickly signed. Two SS soldiers were dragging a struggling person to the next lamp post. The person was quickly subdued and strung up to hang like a common criminal. Hogan watched, helpless, as the body twitched and jerked while the person valiantly tried to breathe. Soon the person succumbed as death took hold, the body still swaying from the efforts of the person to escape. Hogan finally reached the lamp post and looked up at the body, crying out in despair as he recognized the swinging form of Corporal Peter Newkirk._

_Hitler quickly marched him on, leaving no time to grieve, presenting more orders to sign. As he dutifully added Strauss' signature to each page, the SS brought two more thrashing prisoners, and following Strauss' orders, strung them up to die. As the life left them, Hitler allowed him to approach the lamp post. He watched hope turn to loathing and betrayal in the eyes of Corporal Louis LeBeau and Sergeant Richard Baker as Hogan/Strauss stood there passively waiting while death took them too. With his last breath, LeBeau viciously voiced "Filthy Bosche!" before spitting at Strauss' feet._

_Tears ran freely down Hogan's cheeks as Strauss authorized the execution of his former team one by one. Other camp prisoners, Allied officers he used to know, and members of his family were gathering around the edge of the mists and he could feel their hatred growing like a living beast. Hogan could hear them whispering, a chanting rising in volume as they circled him, the word "Traitor!" being repeated over and over, pulsing and echoing all around him until he felt like he was drowning in their disdain. He clawed at his SS uniform, trying to rid himself of the clothing which made him Erlich Strauss but it wouldn't come off. The buttons were fused and the cloth refused to rip. As he tore at the sleeves, rivulets of blood welled on his arms as if the uniform had become his own skin. Strauss was who he was now and 'Colonel Hogan' was just some costume to wear to hide his true self._

_Hitler appeared at his side once more and gave him a set of orders. Strauss/Hogan signed with a shaking hand, knowing in his heart who was next to be condemned to death but unable to stop himself from carrying out his Führer's wishes. He didn't have long to wait until Sergeant Andrew Carter walked calmly to the next lamp post escorted by two more SS guards. As the soldiers tied Carter's hands and slipped the noose over his head, Carter looked at Strauss and asked, "Why, sir? Why are you doing this? Have you forgotten who you are? What we believe in? That we still believe in you?"_

_Strauss stood silently and watched the soldiers carry out his orders, numb to the center of his being. He was unable to find a voice to answer Carter's questions and didn't have answers for them anyways. Carter didn't struggle as he was lifted from the ground; just kept staring with total faith at his former commander. Soon his face turned red, then purplish-blue as his airway was constricted. Strauss watched as Carter mouthed one last silent word "Remember" and then he too was gone..._

Hogan jerked awake, tangled in sweat-stained sheets. Tears streamed down his face and blood seeped into his pajama sleeves from deep scratches on his arms. He sat up and curled into a ball, rocking back and forth on the small cot as he repeated his mantra over and over under his breath.

"_I am still Robert Hogan. I am still Robert Hogan. I am still Robert Hogan…"_

Sleep went AWOL for the rest of the night.

* * *

A/N: The birthday ration information and details about the hangings of civilians were from www (dot) eyewitnesstohistory (dot) com/berlin (dot) htm


	26. Chapter 26: April 21

April 21, 1945

The nurse had just finished changing the IV bottle on the patient in room 127 when the doctor came in.

"Has he shown any signs of awakening?" asked the doctor, lifting his patient's eye lids to check for pupil reaction.

"Some minor stirring, Herr Doktor, but nothing more," replied the nurse.

"Well, Gretl, let's see what's happening under this bandage while he's still out," replied the doctor.

Nurse Gretl Vischer withdrew a pair of scissors from her uniform pocket and gently snipped the gauze holding the bandage to her patient's head. Peeling back the pad revealed the row of neat stitching the doctor had used to close the gash on the man's forehead. Doktor Siegfried Heinkel examined the wound, looking for signs of infection. Satisfied it appeared to be healing nicely, Heinkel indicated the nurse could apply a fresh bandage.

"The swelling appears to have lessened," stated Heinkel, making a few notations on the patient's chart. "No signs of infection so far. We'll keep to my previous instructions; I don't see a reason to change treatment at this point."

"Yes, Herr Doktor," replied the nurse while wrapping another swath of gauze around her patient's head. A groan came from the man in the bed.

"Doktor?" questioned Gretl, alarmed by the patient's sudden stirring.

"It's alright, nurse. Perhaps he is finally coming around," replied Heinkel. He addressed the wakening man. "Can you hear me? Wake up now. Open your eyes. That's it, just a little more. Open your eyes for me. You can do it," encouraged the doctor.

The man in the bed tried to do as the voice requested but it seemed such a long way to go. His eyelids were heavy and his head gave a dull throb. Struggling towards the surface, he battled towards waking, attempting to blink and reach consciousness. Finally successful, he opened his eyes a crack and took in the two people standing by his bedside.

"Whu…?" his first attempts at speaking were a failure, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. The woman reached for something outside his field of vision and returned with a glass of water. He thought she might be a nurse, judging by her clothing but it hurt too much to think. She raised him up a little, helping him to drink; the tepid liquid soothing his arid mouth.

Clearing his throat a little, he tried again. "What happened?" he managed to rasp, fighting to keep his eyes open despite the pain spiking in his head at the bright lights.

"What do you remember?" asked the man wearing a white jacket. _A doktor perhaps_, thought the patient. The man scowled as he thought a bit more before replying, but it was difficult. His brain seemed to be made of molasses and memories were slow to surface. A few brief images flashed through his mind.

"There was an alley. I was chasing someone? Then an explosion…," the patient drifted off as his memory gave out.

"You were caught in an air raid," clarified the doctor. "You were found in an alley near a building which had been destroyed. You have a severe head wound causing a concussion and have been unconscious for two days. In addition, there is also some bruising around your throat and some after effects from smoke inhalation so you may find speaking difficult for the next day or so. Your lower arm was broken and has been set in a cast. There is also some general bruising and minor abrasions. You were lucky you weren't hurt worse than you were. The rescue teams found you and brought you here to the Krankenhaus.

"I am your Doktor, Siegfried Heinkel. This is one of your nurses, Gretl Vischer. Do you know who you are?" asked the doctor, testing his patient's recall after such a serious head injury. Gestapo ID papers had been found on the man, so the doctor knew who he was but didn't want to give away the information.

The patient scowled again, moustache twitching as he tried to remember such a trivial piece of knowledge. Nothing came to him at first. He was so tired, he just wanted to return to the darkness where his head didn't hurt and the lights weren't blinding him. But doktor was insistent so he worked to come up with an answer for him. A name which seemed very important hedged around his thoughts and he made an effort to grasp it. Hesitantly as he tried out each syllable as he recalled it, he said, "H – H – Ho…" He broke off, confused, not sure of how to continue, his groggy mind unable to complete the words.

"Try again," the doktor pushed.

"Ho – Ho – Hogan." The feeling the man experienced at recalling the name evoked such a strong sense of purpose he was certain it belonged to him. Closing his eyes as he drifted back to oblivion, he softly repeated, "My name is Hogan. Robert Hogan."

* * *

The Soviets continued to advance towards Berlin, their artillery shells now reaching the heart of the city. Part of the Russian Army had moved as close as 28 km to Berlin, and was near the town of Werneuchen. The Soviet plan was to encircle the city first and then envelope the Ninth Army.

* * *

Newkirk, Baker and Carter sat around the barracks table playing cards. Every once in a while Newkirk would look over at LeBeau, who was scurrying around the stove, banging pans together and muttering under his breath. Over the course of several hands, the others silently communicated with a few nods and looks at the Frenchman, wondering what was going on. Finally Newkirk had had enough. Tossing his hand in, he turned to his team mate.

"Alright, Louie, what gives, mate?" he asked. The others also put down their cards and looked towards LeBeau, hoping to find out what had him out of sorts.

"Nothing," replied LeBeau sullenly, while rearranging more pots again.

"I don't think it's nothin', mate. You're whirling around the barracks like a Tasmanian devil on a bender, you is, banging pots and pans and you're not even cookin' anythin'. In fact, you 'aven't made anythin' in the barracks since ol' Sullivan and 'is crew took over and you got access to the camp kitchen."

"Newkirk's right, LeBeau," added Carter. "There's got to be something bugging you. Why don't you sit down and tell us about it. Maybe we can help."

Newkirk got up and guided the Frenchman to the bench, where he finally sat down, leaning his crossed arms on the table. He didn't speak for a bit and the guys thought they were going to have to nag him some more to open up but at last he spoke, mumbling sullenly under his breath.

"I had a dream last night."

Newkirk looked across at Carter to see if he'd caught what LeBeau had said. Carter shrugged back he didn't have a clue. Placing his hand on LeBeau's shoulder, Newkirk tried again.

"You want to repeat that, Louie? We didn't quite catch…"

"I said I had a dream last night!" shouted LeBeau with a little hint of anger. He jumped up from the table once more and started pacing behind the bench. "_Vous ne comprendriez pas, même si je vous ai dit…"_ he muttered vehemently.

"What did you say?" asked Baker in confusion.

"I said, you wouldn't understand, even if I told you!" replied LeBeau heatedly, tired of always having to translate everything he said.

"Why don't you sit down again and tell us what's really going on? It must have been some dream for you to get this worked up about it," said Baker.

LeBeau sat down in defeat. "I don't know why it is upsetting me so. It is just a dream but it was so real feeling, _oui_?" he started.

"Boy, I can understand that. I once had a dream and it was sooo scary. There were these monsters chasing after me through the forest out back of my grandfather's cabin, you know? I was running and running, dodging through the trees, twisting and turning…"

"Oh lay off, Carter! The man was just about to finally tell us what's goin' on!"

"Oh right. Sorry LeBeau," said Carter sheepishly.

"I had a dream about _mon__ Colonel_," LeBeau admitted.

"Well it's nothing to get upset about, is it?" asked Baker.

"He was lost and in trouble. He couldn't find his way back to us. He was so wrapped up in being this 'Erlich Strauss' he was losing himself."

"It sounds kind of troublin', but why has it got your knickers in such a twist?"

"Do you remember at the end of last summer when the barrack roof was leaking over my bunk and I went out to fix it in the middle of the night? I fell off the roof after lightning almost hit me. _Le_ _Colonel_ had me pretend to be a fortune-telling Gypsy to get Klink to move the guards around the top secret half-track with the magnetic deviator in it."

"'ow could I forget? Gov'na had me in the woods shootin' off them fireworks with all the bloody Germans shootin' back live ammo! Weren't too 'appy with the Colonel, encouraging the Kommandant with the 'Klink Dipsy Doodle' Maneuver. Scared a year off me life I think," replied Newkirk. "But wot's it got ta do with your dream?"

"Well, _le Colonel_ was right. I didn't want to admit it at the time but I do have some Gypsy blood a couple of generations back on my grandmother's side."

"Your not tellin' us you can see the future now are ya, Louie? 'Cuz I'd be thinkin' you've gone right round the bend crackers this time."

"_Non, non_, it's nothing like that and nothing I can control. But I have had certain dreams before about bad things which have come true. When I was thirteen, my grandfather was away visiting some cousins in the south of France. I had a dream about him saying good bye to me and the next day we got word he had passed away in his sleep."

"Gee, that's a little creepy, LeBeau. Does it happen often?" asked Carter.

"_Non_. But I can usually tell the difference between a premonition and a normal dream. This one feels real. I think _mon Colonel_ is in trouble."

"I could get on the horn and contact London to find out what's happening in Berlin," offered Baker.

"I don't think we should bother them just for that. I mean, they've got really important stuff to do and updating us on what the war's doing is probably not much of a priority for them," said Carter.

"Well 'ow else are we goin' to find out wot's happenin' then?" asked Newkirk with a huff.

"Major Sullivan has a radio. Perhaps he can get an update through his headquarters," suggested LeBeau. "But you'll have to be careful explaining why you want to know, if he asks," he said to Carter.

"He already knows about the operation," said Baker, slightly confused by what LeBeau was saying.

"_C'est vrais_, but London had said to let him in on the bare minimum of the operation to stop raising suspicion over everything we did. He doesn't know Colonel Hogan is alive and undercover in Berlin," LeBeau elaborated.

"You're right, LeBeau. I even told Sullivan straight out the Gestapo had executed the Colonel and it's got to be in Klink's camp records he's been going over. I'll be careful, fellas. Wish me luck!" Carter got up from the table to head for Major Sullivan's office to see what he could discover.

As Carter exited the barracks, Newkirk turned to LeBeau. "So, you feelin' better now, mate?"

"_Oui__, Pierre_, I believe I am. _Merci._"

"Good, you can clean up all these bloomin' pots then!"

LeBeau chuckled and got right on it.

* * *

The next time the patient in Room 127 awoke, he was a lot more lucid. His head and arm throbbed dully in unison.

Nurse Gretl arrived shortly thereafter with a syringe of pain medication to administer. She began to take his vitals first, checking his pulse and noting it on his chart as the doktor entered.

"How are we feeling now?" asked Dr. Heinkel, giving his patient the once over.

"Bah, I need to get out of here," replied the man.

"It will be several days at least, more likely a week before that can happen. You've only just woke up and we need to monitor your concussion. We also have to make sure there are no complications with your breathing or your broken arm. You were rather groggy the last time you were conscious. Perhaps you can tell me your name this time?" asked the doktor, wanting to see if his patient had any better recall. The name the patient had given him had not matched the identification papers, which raised some red flags first, over his patient's state of mind, and second, over the possibility of subterfuge.

"My name is Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter," replied the patient firmly, with a bit of a sneer. "I am Gestapo and you will not hold me here."

"You aren't in any condition to leave at the moment," replied Heinkel, relieved the man seemed to have recalled who he was and ruling out amnesia from the blow to his head. "Who is Robert Hogan?" he asked casually as he looked under the bandage on Hochstetter's forehead.

"Hogan! Is he here? He was the man I was chasing in the alley when the bomb exploded. Was he injured?" queried Hochstetter. As his blood pressure increased at the thought of the American getting away once more, the aching in his arm and head grew in intensity.

"Please calm yourself, Colonel. You were the only one brought in alive from that area. There was another body in the alley close to where you were found, but he was killed in the blast. I do not know who he was," answered the Doktor truthfully. "Now, you need to rest. The nurse has your scheduled pain medication ready. It will help you sleep."

At the Doktor's indication, Gretl stepped up and injected the needle into Hochstetter's arm before he could protest. The nurse and Doktor left, and Hochstetter could feel the medication working, his arm and head not pounding with pain any more. As he started to relax from the drug and give in to the drowsiness, he mulled over Heinkel's words. Hochstetter was positive Hogan was the only other person in the alley when the shell had hit, so Hogan must finally be dead. He hadn't had the pleasure of doing the deed himself, but the result satisfied him never-the-less. He could allow himself time to recover then. Hochstetter's eyes closed and a small smile appeared on his lips as he drifted off into a healing slumber.

* * *

The nightmares faded in the light of day, not that Hogan could tell being deep underground in the bunker beneath the heart of Berlin. He had managed to catch a couple more hours of dreamless sleep just before 'dawn', after pulling himself together and taking another tour around the complex. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping. As he had passed the corridor to the Führerbunker, Hogan had caught an odd sight. Hitler was sitting on the floor in the hall with back against the wall, absently petting his dog which was asleep with its head in his lap.

Once more posted in the conference room, Hogan was surrounded by the few remaining fanatical Chiefs of Staff still loyal to the Reich who believed their Führer could still be victorious. Hitler, he was told, would not be roused until 1400 as per his order. This was becoming a not uncommon occurrence as the Führer roamed the halls til 0500 before retiring for the night. It was up to the General Staff to manage the battle with the Soviets while their leader slept.

The outlook was not hopeful for the German Reich. Russian artillery had begun to pour shells into the heart of Berlin from Marzahn – only 8 miles away. Nothing had been heard from the units posted directly to the east since the night before. The breach to the north-east was still a concern. Once Hitler joined the remains of the General Staff in the afternoon, plans were made to pull together an ad hoc battle group under SS General Felix Steiner to send towards Werneuchen and cut off Soviet Marshall Zhukov's army to the north of Berlin.

Heinrici, as Steiner's superior, was against the move. He was still trying to prevent the Ninth Army from being encircled, but he was now over at Fürstenwalde. The only move he could make, reported Heinrici, would be to take the troops south-east to the lake country and abandon Berlin.

Hitler got on the phone himself and began issuing orders to get any forces available into position at Werneuchen under Steiner. His orders had an under-current of hysterical insanity as more and more reports filtered back that his orders were being ignored. Threats of executions for failure to carry out his wishes were issued along with the orders. Hogan stood back and watched as Germany's greatest leader moved quickly to a serious breakdown. Soon it became apparent either Heinrici or Steiner had failed to gather any forces at Werneuchen and what little was there was swept away by the surging Soviets.

* * *

"So what did Sullivan have to say?" asked LeBeau as soon as the barracks door opened to reveal Carter returning from his attempt to get information on what was happening in Berlin.

"Apparently his headquarters sends out info at least daily on what is going on. He had no problem sharing it with me," said Carter as he sat down on his bunk and leaned against the barrack wall.

"And…" prompted Newkirk when it became clear Carter wasn't going to carry on.

"Oh, uh, well, the Soviets are really giving it to the Germans. They've pretty much reached the outskirts of Berlin and are starting to encircle it. The Major said there have been massive air raids on Berlin the last two nights in a row by the Allies."

"That tears it. We've got ta do somethin' ta 'elp the gov'na," said Newkirk, grinding out a cigarette butt with enthusiasm. "We've got ta get 'im outta Berlin!"

"You're crazy!"

"_C'est impossible!_"

"Are you nuts?"

There was a pause as the four team members looked at each other.

"When do we leave?" asked Baker as smiles broke out around the table.

* * *

It turned out to be a little more complicated then that. Once the team was unanimous in wanting to go to Berlin, they hashed out plans and possible scenarios. A supplies list was drafted, including weapons, clothing, food, and medical supplies. Carter got all the information on current troop positions and fighting locations from Major Sullivan so they could map out the hot spots to avoid.

London was contacted to request permission to go after their wayward leader. Goldilocks couldn't give them an answer immediately, promising to get back to them with a decision within a day or two. In the mean time, planning continued with the unspoken agreement they would be going to Berlin whether they had London's approval or not.

In the end, it was decided Baker should remain at camp. First, the other team members figured they would have to travel as civilians once they reached Berlin. Their military status would help them while moving through Allied territory, but it wouldn't mean much once they reached Soviet-occupied Berlin, which is what looked very probable right now. Baker's skin colour would be a liability.

Second, it was agreed one of the original team members should stay behind in case of any issues with Major Sullivan, the camp, or the operation. More captured Germans were arriving daily and Sullivan had been working with Carter to ensure the operation remained a secret. In addition, Baker was the only one who could run the radio and continue contact with London.

If everything went according to plan, the team would be on their way to Berlin in just a few short days. Everyone was happy to be finally doing something to help Colonel Hogan and reunite the team. The planning was a delay that, while chafed at the nerves, was necessary to hopefully ensure their success. However, one thought occupied all their minds: _Would they be in time?_

* * *

Hogan entered his quarters and moved to hang his uniform tunic in the small wardrobe in the corner. He was tired after a long day and little sleep the night before. It was late, but he hadn't been dismissed from the conference room until after 2300.

He looked at the bed and gave a heart-felt sigh. A man shouldn't be afraid to face his own pillow, but at this moment, even as exhausted as he was, Hogan felt himself shying away from wanting to go to sleep. The nightmare the night before had shaken him to his very soul and he was leery of a repeat performance tonight.

Hoping that following his normal bedtime routine would ease his worry, Hogan quietly changed into his pyjamas and washed up. Reaching for the blanket to pull back the sheets, he noticed his hand shaking and he was breathing fast. _This is stupid_, he thought, sitting down at the desk and turning his back on the cause of his anxieties.

He fiddled with some remaining paperwork, his eyes drooping until he couldn't hold them open any more. He briefly considered sleeping with his head down on the desk, but figured the back pain and kinked neck wouldn't be worth it in the morning. He stood up and faced his adversary, believing he was finally tired enough to sleep without dreaming. Before he could reconsider, Hogan swiftly slipped into bed and turned out the light, admonishing himself for over-reacting.

Sleep came quickly but it was not as dream-free as he would have liked.

"_Colonel."_

"_Captain."_

"_Colonel."_

"_Captain."_

_He was in a dense fog. The two titles were whispered back and forth over and over, combining and swirling around him, repeating faster and faster until they almost joined into one._

_Suddenly the fog lifted. He stood in an open meadow on the top of a hill, wild flowers blooming gaily and blowing in the breeze. The words changed._

"_Who are you?"_

"_Who are you?"_

"_Who are you?"_

"_Colonel."_

"_Captain."_

"_Colonel."_

"_Captain."_

"_Who are you?'_

_He turned around and around, wondering where the voices came from, wondering if he should answer but he was all alone._

_He stopped turning when he spotted four shadowed figures moving in the distance. Suddenly they crested the hill, traversing the distance far too fast for normal means._

_It was his team. They stood side by side and confronted him at the edge of the meadow. He rushed forward, eager to see them at last._

"_Who are you?" Newkirk demanded._

"_Colonel?" asked LeBeau._

"_Captain?" asked Baker._

"_Choose," demanded Carter._

_He looked each of his team members in the eye as they spoke. He felt unsure of what they wanted, why they were acting the way they were. He remained silent, unable to find his voice. The team edged closer, forcing him to take steps backwards to maintain some distance between them but they hounded him like a wolf pack hunting its prey. The team repeated their demands._

"_Who are you?" Newkirk demanded._

"_Colonel?" asked LeBeau._

"_Captain?" asked Baker._

"_Choose," demanded Carter._

"_I…" he started and paused, at a loss of what to say. "I don't know. I don't know any more…"_

"_Tell me: who are you?" commanded Carter, eyes sharp as flint, voice cold as stone._

"_Colonel…Captain…Choose…Colonel…Captain…Choose…" the others whispered over and over and over._

"_I'm…I'm…" he gulped nervously. "I'm Robert Hogan…I'm Robert Hogan. Colonel! I choose Colonel!" he cried desperately._

"_Not fast enough, gov'na," sneered Newkirk._

_The four men raised their weapons as one and fired. White fluffy clouds floated overhead as he lay on his back gasping his last breath amongst the meadow flowers._

"_Traitor..."_

"_Traitor..."_

"_Traitor…"_

"_Traitor…"_

Hogan sat up in bed, heart pounding, sweat rolling down his temple. He subconsciously rubbed his chest but there was no blood, no bullet holes. Cynically, he thought as he caught his breath, he supposed now they were even as far as executing each other went.

He laid down again in the dark, waiting for his heart to slow to normal, for the adrenalin to flush out of his system. Light from the hallway invading from under the door cast strange shadows on the walls of his quarters.

_Guys, I really wish you were here._ Hogan was tired of being alone.

* * *

A/N: The 'Klink Dipsy Doodle' is from the sixth season episode #157 The Gypsy.


	27. Chapter 27: April 22

April 22, 1945

Hogan had done a lot of thinking over the rest of the night, sorting out his buried emotions, the things he'd seen, the things he'd dreamt about. The longer he stayed underground, the more the horrors of what he'd seen in Berlin faded to the realms of his nightmares. He couldn't condone what the SS were doing above ground. 'Following orders' seemed like a scapegoat for those too weak to stand up for their own sense of right. It was the sign of a desperate people whose leaders were unwilling to concede that defeat was the only viable option.

He had put his role as Erlich Strauss in perspective. Perhaps he shouldn't have spent the night with Brigitta under such circumstances; it gave 'Strauss' too much realism. But it had felt right at the time; it had been what he needed to deal with Hochstetter's confrontation and Pfeiffer's demise, and the attraction had certainly been there. It was past now and could not be changed. As for Hochstetter himself, Hogan figured he probably wouldn't ever see the Gestapo officer again since being stationed in the bunker. He had mentally slammed the door on the feelings of anger and guilt evoked purposely by Hochstetter about his family being told of his 'death', promising to rectify the situation as soon as he could and not allow them to be a distraction.

One more thing he did come to realize though. He was fortunate enough to warrant separate quarters where he had the luxury of casting off his role of Erlich Strauss. In private he could be himself, relax, and not worry about silly things like speaking English in his sleep. Ever since coming to the bunker, he had felt as if he had to be in character twenty-four hours a day because he was in the heart of the enemy lair. It had ratcheted up his stress immensely. Now he could see his quarters as a safe haven; a place to remember who he truly was and why he was here.

After working through all this, Hogan was certain the nightmares would be banished until all this was over. He had faltered but not fallen. He finally felt like he had his game face on again.

* * *

Four heads bent over the map of Germany spread across the wooden table at the center of the barracks. A stack of dispatches was piled on the bench, with several having already slipped to the floor. Pens moved busily across the paper, marking out friendly and enemy territory. Once finished, the team straightened up and admired their work.

It had been a long process, having to map out reported positions from the last weeks' worth of dispatches, but it was worth it. They now knew exactly where the front lines were between Stalag 13 and Berlin as of 0700 that morning.

The men grinned at each other and returned to the map. Together, they started planning a safe route to take to Berlin.

* * *

The war conference began at 1500. The Russians were now in Köpenick, an eastern suburb of Berlin and were approaching Spandau. The last remaining garrison at Frankfurt-on-Oder was finally pulled out and the city left to the Russians. Hitler asked for an update on General Steiner's attack in the north to head off Zhukov's army. Contradictory reports were received; one stating the attack had begun, the other said nothing had been done. He took the betrayal of his own SS personally, becoming enraged at being cut to the quick by his own army, his eyes bulging and face turning an ugly shade of purple.

"That's it," he shouted. "How am I supposed to direct the war in such circumstances? The war's lost! But if you gentlemen imagine I'll leave Berlin now, then you've got another think coming. I'd sooner put a bullet in my brains!"

With that declaration, Hitler stormed out.

Word spread through the bunker like wildfire, causing the staff to cluster in the passageways waiting to hear the gun shots to indicate their Führer had abandoned them.

* * *

Hogan drifted through the bunker. Neither officially on duty nor off duty, he had neither been ordered to stay nor to relocate with the other soldiers. He had heard about Hitler's threat third hand and knew Germany's leader had reached a critical mental snapping point.

Hogan had hoped the Führer would have the sense to give up Berlin and evacuate with the rest of the General Staff. It would have made it easier for him to complete his secondary mission, although Hogan seriously doubted his ability to accomplish it at this point. He wondered if he should give in and get out, but the thought of not finishing his assignment went against his nature. He had never abandoned a mission before. He would stick it out a while longer and hope it wouldn't cost him in the long run.

* * *

"Goldilocks to Baby Bear, come in please, over," came the detached voice over the radio.

"This is Baby Bear; we read you Goldilocks, over," replied Baker. Baker had the radio on the speaker as the team was gathered around the radio room awaiting their regularly scheduled contact with London. All of them had their fingers crossed hoping a decision had been made about their mission to Berlin.

"In regards to your request to retrieve missing Bear, approval has been granted. Orders confirming will be sent through Major Sullivan. Good luck, Baby Bear. Goldilocks out."

Cheers and high-fives were exchanged. Now to carry out their plans…

* * *

Hitler had calmed himself and returned to the conference room to meet a grinning General Alfred Jodl. Jodl was the Chief of Operations Staff for the Wehrmacht High Command. He had been busily studying the plans for Operation 'Eclipse' while the Führer had been 'regrouping'.

Jodl had a solution for the lack of troops available to stop the Russians to the north-east. At present, the Twelfth Army under General Walther Wenck was facing the American forces at the Elbe River. The Elbe was proposed to be one of the lines to divide Germany after the war under Operation 'Eclipse'. The Soviets and the Americans had both demonstrated an unwillingness to cross these future boundaries in the previous weeks, so Jodl speculated it would be safe to move the Twelfth Army without fear of advancement by the Americans.

Hitler immediately issued the order, along with orders to Heinrici to move the Ninth Army slightly west to meet up with Twelfth. Together the two armies would make a final stand to defend Berlin against the rushing Red horde.

* * *

Sergeant Carter had been asked to report to Major Sullivan's office after evening roll call. Knocking on the inner office door, he waited to hear 'Come!" from inside before entering and saluting the man seated behind the desk.

"Have a seat, Sergeant," said Sullivan as he moved some papers from one pile to another. "I have some interesting orders here that just came through from Headquarters. Seems we'll be losing you and a few others for a little while."

Carter sat in the chair in front of the desk as Sullivan talked, knowing what orders the Major had received.

"Uh, yes sir," he replied as Sullivan seemed to be waiting for a response.

"I take it you know what these orders are for?" asked Sullivan.

"I sure hope I do, Major," said Carter.

"I've been ordered to issue you and anyone else you designate a travelling permit to head north towards Berlin. I'm also authorized to give you a peep or other vehicle you require and any equipment or supplies you think you'll need."

Carter gave a big smile. "That's great, sir! The team's been given a mission by London. We've been planning it for a day or so, so we already know what we need. The travel permit is the most important thing. Newkirk and LeBeau will be accompanying me. Baker is staying behind to be your new liaison with the Operation, if that's alright, sir."

"That will do nicely, Sergeant. Don't suppose I can ask what the mission is about? Berlin's a highly dangerous and unstable area right now."

"We realize that, sir, but we really do have to go to Berlin. Let's just say we have to pick up a lost package, okay sir?" asked Carter with a grin.

"Okay, Sergeant. I recognize 'need to know' when I hear it," replied Sullivan. "I'll get the paperwork for the travel passes underway. You can see Captain Nichols about any equipment you want to take. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," said Carter as he rose from the chair and headed to the office door. He paused as he reached for the doorknob and shook his head slightly.

"Something wrong, Sergeant?" asked Sullivan.

"Oh no, sir," replied Carter. "Just thinking how much easier it is to get everything through proper channels. I'm just not sure it's as much fun!" he said with a chuckle as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

The boys settled into their bunks for the night, knowing tomorrow they would be leaving Stalag 13. They had spent the remainder of the evening preparing for their cross-country adventure. In the morning, Sullivan would be giving them a peep which would have to be packed with all the gear they planned to take. The guys had fallen asleep quickly, exhausted after all their prep work. Carter however, couldn't sleep.

He laid there on his bunk, listening to the breathing of the other men as one by one it evened off as they slipped into quiet slumber. Soon, Carter could hear some of the others begin to snore as he rearranged his pillow for the fourteen-hundredth time. He was anxious about the upcoming mission.

It would be his first mission in command and it was a doozy. Nothing to gently get his feet wet in the pool of command – no, this was a full-out, 'jump straight into the deep end without even testing the water with his big toe' mission. He was taking the team into hostile territory. Just travelling through Allied terrain could be fraught with danger, never mind when they had to cross into Soviet-occupied land and finally into German-held Berlin. Strangely, the part about searching through Berlin didn't seem to worry him as much, likely because they were used to working with the enemy in the area.

No, the part which scared him the most was failing – failing to keep the team safe and most of all, failing to find and retrieve Colonel Hogan unharmed. Berlin was a big place and all they had to go on was a name and rank, with no idea where he was posted. Colonel Hogan could have been transferred to the front lines, sent out of the city, or worse, been killed in an attack already. He could even be on his way back here and their paths would cross without either being the wiser. Carter sighed and rolled over, wishing his brain wasn't running a million miles an hour.

He had to admit to himself he was afraid of letting the Colonel down. The Colonel had trusted him to keep the guys safe while he was gone and now Carter was taking them right onto the front lines. He vowed he would keep the team together, watching each others' backs like they always did, and pray everything came out alright in the end. He couldn't ask for team mates any better than Newkirk and LeBeau. The three of them now had several years experience to call on and luck had always been on their side. Hopefully it would continue to see them through one last time.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep once more.

* * *

A/N: Hitler's rant in the opening scene is from pg 820 Hitler's War and the War Path

The Wehrmacht or OKW is the German Armed Forces - Heer (Army), Kreigsmarine (Navy), and Luftwaffe (Air Force). They were completely separate from the SS forces, which was the army of the Nazi party.


	28. Chapter 28: April 23

April 23, 1945

The morning sun shone brightly in the camp compound as the team began hauling equipment from the barracks over to the waiting peep. No one had any idea what kind of difficulties they would encounter and they wanted to pack for every possible outcome. In the long run, practicality overcame obsession and the gear was reduced to what could fit with the three team members sitting comfortably inside. SS Uniforms with papers neatly forged by Newkirk, civilian attire, hand guns, ammunition, a handful of grenades, and a few packs of dynamite with timers were all crammed in, along with a few days' worth of rations. The map the team had created to delineate friendly and enemy territory was stashed up front.

The captured Germans had been milling about in the compound. Some of the younger ones engaged in tossing balls back and forth like their Allied predecessors had done. It was a strange site to behold, but one the ex-prisoners had gotten used to over the past few weeks as their roles reversed. The former guards were still quite taken with the novelty of having nothing to do but 'play' all day, having years of jealousy to wear off after watching their prisoners have fun while they remained staunchly alert at their posts.

Schultz eventually ambled over, having seen 'his boys' busily preparing the peep. Carter and Newkirk were manhandling a container while LeBeau was in the backseat, rearranging other boxes and directing where this one should be placed.

"Hey, Schultzie!"

"Hiya, Schultz!"

"Ok, try it now," came the muffled voice of LeBeau from inside.

"_Was ist das?_" asked Schultz as Newkirk and Carter hoisted the carton into the air and manoeuvred it into the rear.

"It's a peep," said Carter over his shoulder. "Can't you see that?"

"Nein, nein, I mean what is going on? Are you going somewhere?"

"Give the gentleman a cigar! Right you are, Schultzie," said Newkirk, pausing to wipe his brow and reset his garrison cap on his head. "Still can't pull anythin' over on you, can we now?"

LeBeau hopped out from the back. "We've been reassigned," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder.

"Reassigned?" asked Schultz, looking dumbfounded at the idea.

"Sure thing. We're leaving as soon as we get this vehicle packed," said Carter enthusiastically.

"But, but, but, but…" Schultz stopped and sighed, crestfallen. He certainly understood 'following orders' clearly enough after serving in two wars and there was no reason for them to stay. With the war almost over, they would have been returning to their own homes soon anyway, but Schultz couldn't help but feeling a little sad his favourite prisoners were leaving. He supposed, if you looked at things realistically, his 'happy little Stalag 13 family' would have broken up sooner or later. It already had a little with the death of Colonel Hogan. It was amazing it had lasted as long as it did. But still, the heart didn't always like what the head could reason out. "Will you be back?"

"Don't know for sure, but I think so," said Carter. "At least, that's the plan right now. But you never know what can happen. I mean, something could happen or plans could change or we could get new orders or anything like that so you just never know. You know what I mean?"

"Ja, I think so. Where are you going? Not the front lines?" asked Schultz with concern etched on his round face.

"Now, Schultzie, you know we aren't able to tell ya that. We would if we could, mate, but orders are orders…" said Newkirk, putting one arm around the rotund German and starting to turn him away from the peep.

"_Pul-eeze_, Newkirk. Just a little hint. You know how I worry about you boys. You can get into so much trouble with your monkey business…" Schultz reached into his coat pocket and produced a chocolate bar, which he waved under Newkirk's nose.

"Crikey! Be still my 'eart. Things must be serious if ol' Schultz is tryin' to bribe us with our own chocolate!" exclaimed Newkirk to the others, exaggerating the shock of Schultz actually offering to part with food to gain information. Carter and LeBeau exchanged a glance.

"North, and that's all we're going to tell you, _oui_?" said LeBeau, crossing his arms over his chest to show the finality of the statement.

"_Danke_, Cockroach. But isn't there still fighting to the north? What's up there?"

"Ah, ah, ah!" said Newkirk, waggling his finger at Schultz. "We're not tellin' ya anymore so off ya go. Back to the barracks like a good little German prisoner. We've got packin' ta do!"

"Actually, I think we're just about done," said Carter, scratching his head while he tried to think of anything they'd forgotten. As Schultz started to amble away, Carter continued, "Make one last sweep of the barracks for anything we might need. I've got someone to see before we go."

"Right you are. Come on Louis," said Newkirk, pivoting on one heel to head to the barracks. LeBeau followed behind.

Carter turned and headed away from the barracks. Passing Schultz, he stopped the former guard before he got too far.

"Thanks for everything you've done to help us over the years, Schultz. We're going to miss you but hopefully, we'll be back, and soon!" Carter paused and looked around to see if he would be overheard. "Don't tell anybody," he whispered, "but we're going on a Bear hunt!" And then he winked and walked swiftly away, whistling as he went.

Schultz stared at the retreating form as if Carter had grown two heads. _Jolly joker! Everyone knows there are no bears in Germany!_

* * *

It was time to be proactive. Hogan was tired of hanging in limbo. It seemed he was one of the last middle ranked officers left in the bunker. Mostly enlisted types still ran around carrying out the orders of the few remaining General Staff. Hogan found he was feeling the absence of Hans Pfeiffer's camaraderie. Captain was a difficult rank to fit in with, as the non-comms avoided him and the higher ranked officers treated him with distain. His own time as a Captain wasn't much better off, but at least there were others of similar rank to socialize with on base. Hogan longed to be wearing his eagles once again.

Shaking off his musings, Hogan decided to make himself useful. It was either that or Hitler would be assigning him to walk the dogs, a task currently done by Fraulein Braun under guard escort. Hogan headed for the Communications room, hoping he could put his limited knowledge gained under the tutelage of Kinch to some use.

He slipped into the back of the small room, hoping to remain anonymous as he observed the protocols and procedures being carried out. The two soldiers with their backs to Hogan were manning the radio with earphones on, flipping switches, turning dials, calling recognition codes and responding in kind. Entries were made in log books as communiqués were received and acknowledged. Finally, a break in the chatter occurred and both men took off their headsets, rubbing ears long numbed by the hours wearing the equipment. The Master Sergeant stretched and turned in his chair, half rising before catching Hogan's presence out of the corner of his eye.

"Hauptsturmführer!" he exclaimed, slapping the Corporal beside him on the shoulder before snapping to attention. "My apologies. I did not know you were there. I thought you were our relief man."

"As you were, gentlemen," said Hogan, waving at them to indicate they need not rise on his behalf.

"Can we help you sir?" asked the Sergeant, baffled at the Captain's presence.

"I think maybe you can," said Hogan with a smile. "I understand we're a little short on communications personnel."

"Yes sir, a little. We have to have two people manning the radio at all times due to the amount of traffic on the airwaves. Unfortunately, there are only three of us left who can operate it. We've worked out a rotation to spell someone off every six hours. Not to complain sir, but it is wearing us down."

"How would you like another set of hands?" asked Hogan. "I've had a little experience on other radio models at my previous posting but I'm sure I could pick this one up fairly quickly. If there's always someone else here, then help would be on hand if I needed it. What do you say, Sergeant?"

"Uh, well, sir," the Sergeant spluttered. Truly he did need another radio operator but to take on the Captain…

"Don't feel pressured, Master Sergeant. I'm not making it an order and if you say no, it will not go on your file. You will remain in charge of the Communications center, despite my rank. I'm just finding I have a little downtime and it looked like you were seriously overworked. If you want, you can think about it and let me know later…"

"I appreciate the offer, sir," replied the Sergeant with some hesitation, amazed at the Captain's attitude. It was virtually unheard of for an officer to be willing to follow an unlisted man's commands. Certainly they asked for reports, assessments, recommendations and the like, but never in essence inserted themselves _under_ a Sergeant's command. He found himself warming to the Captain and decided to follow his gut instinct when he said, "Let me show you how it works."

Relieved his offer had been taken at face value, Hogan stepped forward to take a seat at one of the radio stations. "Hauptsturmfürher Erlich Strauss," he said by way of introduction.

"Oberscharführer Ludwig Manitz," replied the Master Sergeant. "This here's Rottenführer Josef Schmidt," he added, indicating the Corporal beside him. "Our other radio man is Unterscharführer Karl Nagel. He should be in soon as Schmidt is due to be relieved at 1430."

Hogan spent the rest of the afternoon 'learning the ropes'. Between Sergeants Nagel and Manitz, he was introduced to recognition codes, given a run-down on procedures, and tested on his ability to run the radio itself. By the time evening Mess rolled around, Hogan was mentally exhausted but thoroughly pleased with his new fledgling skills. He was thankful he had always been a fast learner. Hogan planned to return to the Comms center after he ate so Nagel could have dinner at a reasonable hour for once. He was looking forward to having something useful to do at last.

* * *

Carter's destination had been the cooler. As he neared the cell which held the former camp Kommandant, he could see Klink sitting at the small table, scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper. Stacks of paper were piled on the cot and floor, some to the point where they were in danger of toppling over.

"Howdy, Colonel."

"Just put it on the floor, I'll get it in a minute," replied Klink, continuing to write.

"Oh, er, ah, sorry sir, that's not why I'm here," said Carter, stumbling a bit over what the Colonel had meant. "You seem to have found something to do. I didn't think there was that much paper left in all of Germany, sir."

"Yes, yes, lots to do. Dismissed," said Klink absently, pausing to scratch out part of what he'd written and correct it.

"I can see you're busy, sir, so I'll just say good-bye and let you get back to it. Don't know if I'll be back, what with being reassigned and all. Glad you're doing alright now, sir. See ya." Carter turned to leave the cooler, a little disappointed in Colonel Klink's reaction to his visit.

"Whaaaat?" Klink's voice started low and climbed higher as he stretched out the question. "Sergeant Carter! Wait a minute!" exclaimed Klink as he put down his pencil and went over to the bars of the cell. "What's this about a good-bye?"

"Oh, yeah, I just came to tell you Newkirk, LeBeau, and I have been reassigned for the time being. We're leaving in half an hour or so, so I wanted to come 'round and let you know I won't be here to visit you any more. But it looks like you're managing to keep yourself occupied. What is all that anyway?"

"I've finally found time to write my memoirs. I told Colonel Hogan I always wanted to sit down and write them, but there was never any time. Well, now I seem to have plenty of time!" Klink gave a half-hearted, high-pitched laugh which echoed falsely in the confines of cooler. In his mind, Klink was also thinking of the possibility of being tried for war crimes. Odds were good he'd either spend time in prison where he'd have more time to work on his book, or he'd be sentenced to death, in which case it was better if he wrote things down now before it was too late.

"Well, I'll let you get back to it, sir. Just wanted to say good-bye and thanks – you weren't too bad of a kommandant, for an enemy and all." Carter shrugged and smiled. "I'd better get going – the guys are waiting for me."

"Good-bye, Sergeant. _Danke_ for letting me know. And good luck, wherever you're off to."

"Thanks, Colonel." Carter gave a small wave and left the cooler. Klink returned to his little table. It wasn't long before the room was filled with the sounds of pencil scratching its way across paper once again.

* * *

Back in the compound, LeBeau and Newkirk were waiting impatiently by the peep for Carter to make his reappearance. Baker, Foster, Olsen and a few other former barracks chiefs were also hanging around the vehicle, making idle conversation to pass the time, wanting to say good-bye to their friends. They knew the team was off on a mission but weren't in on the details, other than Baker of course, who was keeping quiet on the subject. Major Sullivan had also come out of the Commandant building to see the trio off.

At last, Carter appeared from the cooler and headed towards the growing group of men gathered around the peep. Major Sullivan stepped forward as Carter arrived on the scene.

"Well, gentlemen, I trust you've got everything you need?" he asked.

"And a wee bit more sir!" said Newkirk cheekily, thinking specifically of the German uniforms stashed on the bottom of the gear Sullivan hadn't provided.

"I certainly hope so, sir," replied Carter, looking at all the containers strapped to the rear of the peep. "I don't think we'd be able to pack anything more if we tried."

"Here are your travelling documents," Sullivan continued, handing one to LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter. "These will get you past any Allied check points. Good luck and God speed, gentlemen." Sullivan and the team exchanged salutes before the Major went back to his desk.

That was the cue for Baker and the others to step forward for their good-byes.

"Take care of the store while we're gone," said Carter to Baker.

"Will do," he replied. "And I hope you guys are successful retrieving our lost package. Hurry back and stay safe."

"We'll do our best."

"Right then gents, let's get this show on the road!" exclaimed Newkirk, climbing into the driver's seat, thankful to finally be back in action after the long downtime. Carter hopped into the back while LeBeau settled into the front passenger seat to navigate. Newkirk fired up the engine and slipped her in gear, pulling smoothly away towards the gates. LeBeau and Carter waved to the crowd as the gates swung wide to let them out. Newkirk floored it as they hit the open road and they disappeared in a cloud of dust.

* * *

Nagel had been gone all of ten minutes when a priority call came into the radio station Hogan was manning. Although Manitz was busy with his own transmissions, he kept one eye on what Hogan was doing and helped him occasionally when needed.

The message came in from Göring who had made it safely to Berchtesgaden.

_Mein F__ü__hrer,_

_In view of your decision to remain in the fortress of Berlin, are you agreed that I immediately assume overall leadership of the Reich as your Deputy, in accordance with your decree of June 29, 1941, with complete freedom of action at home and abroad?_

_Unless an answer is given by ten pm, I will assume you have been deprived of your freedom of action. I shall then regard the conditions laid down by your Decree as being met, and shall act in the best interests of the people and Fatherland._

_You know my feelings for you in these the hardest hours of my life. I cannot express them adequately._

_May God protect you and allow you to come here soon despite everything._

– _Your loyal Hermann Göring_

Hogan sucked in a breath when he reread the completed transmission he had decoded. This was BIG. Göring wanted to assume all the Führer's power and continue to run the country and the war from the south. Although candy-coated in niceties, it was definitely an ultimatum and somehow Hogan didn't think Hitler would take it too well.

Hogan passed the message over to Manitz, whose eyes bulged slightly as he read the communiqué. His eyes flicked up to meet Hogan's as if to say _Are you sure?_ At Hogan's nod, the Sergeant shrugged a shoulder with indifference and returned to his station.

Following protocol, Hogan logged the entry in the books. He was about to page a Private to come and deliver the message to the conference room when Sergeant Nagel returned from Mess to relieve Hogan. With some resignation and trepidation, Hogan decided to deliver the message himself. It might be worth the front row seat.

He walked quickly through the hall to the small conference room in the Führerbunker. The door was open, so Hogan slipped in and waited patiently to be acknowledged.

"What is it Strauss?" asked Hitler gruffly as he looked up from the maps strewn across the table.

"Priority communication from Reichmarschall Göring, mein Führer," replied Hogan, offering the crisp sheet to the leader of the Third Reich. He then waited for the explosion.

He didn't have long to wait. To assume Hitler was outraged was an understatement. Spittle was flying as he raged against his second-in-command, accompanied by some fist pounding on the table top. Hogan found it hard to suppress a smile of satisfaction as he watched the upper echelons of the Nazi party fracture and crumble before his eyes. The looks of anger and dismay on the faces of the remaining General Staff also bolstered his flagging spirits. Oh yes, it had been worth it to deliver this letter.

"Strauss!" barked Hitler abruptly. "Send this back to him at once:

_I alone will decide when the Decree of June 29, 1941, takes e__ff__ect; you are forbidden to take any steps in this direction._

_Your actions are punishable by death, but because of your valuable services in the past I shall refrain from instituting proceedings if you will voluntarily relinquish your o__ffi__ces and titles. Otherwise steps will have to be taken._

"Add my name to the bottom and send it priority one. Bormann! See to it that Göring is put under house arrest immediately!" At the end of his speech, Hitler stormed off to his private quarters.

Martin Bormann, head of the Party Chancellery, which essentially made him Deputy Führer and one of Hitler's most trusted advisors, immediately jumped up from the table and headed to the phone to contact the SS office in Berchtesgaden. Hogan exited the conference room and headed back to Comms, eager to deliver Hitler's response.

* * *

The trip to Berlin would be a gruelling journey. In ideal times, with decent highways, it would take about four hours, same as the train. Taking the back roads cross-country would double the time to somewhere between eight and eight and a half hours, depending on the route. Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau planned on it taking two days by the time they skirted hot spots of German resistance, back tracked for bridges that were out and road closures, and passed through checkpoints. There was also the general disrepair of the roads themselves from air attacks and ground fighting to slow them down.

The peep rolled and pitched as Newkirk drove it over the pothole ridden roads through the forests north of Hammelburg. It had been late morning before they finally were able to leave Stalag 13, a little behind schedule for what they had originally planned. After about three hours of making their way through little villages and forest-bound roads, they finally reached Eisenach, where they passed through a check point and paused to have a bite to eat from their rations.

From Eisenach, they loaded up again and headed east through Gotha until they made it to Erfurt. It took longer than the anticipated hour or so indicated by the distance on the map due to the heavy concentration of US troops in the area because of the Ohrdruf concentration camp.

It was the first the men from Stalag 13 had heard of such atrocities, not realizing how sheltered they had been against the horrors happening only a few hours away. Had London known? The team was somewhat angered they had never been given the opportunity to do anything about the death camp. From what little they heard, it would have been a blessing to just blow up the camp rather than rescuing its inmates.

There was a large headquarters set up in Erfurt, and with the coming of evening, the team decided it would be best to stay there for the night. Disappointment lingered at not being able to progress further, but there was a Mess to eat in to save their rations and spare cots set up under large tents for them to sleep. Carter made the call to stay, thus guaranteeing them food and secure shelter for the night, as well as a source for Intel in the morning to update their map. The next stage of their journey might not be as lucky as they neared the point where the fighting continued. At some point, they would have to cross the lines into enemy territory. The closer they got to Berlin before doing that, the less risky it was.

Settling in on his cot, Carter thought about the days ahead. So far, the journey was going well. He thought he made the right decision in staying, knowing safe and comfortable places to rest would be hard to find as they continued northwards. The Colonel would have to hold on just a little bit longer. He drifted off to sleep, secure in the sounds of LeBeau and Newkirk sleeping next to him.

* * *

A/N: To the best of my knowledge, there are no wild bears in Germany. According to a National Geographic article from May 2006, there was a spotting of the first wild bear in 170 years to roam through Germany and it was in Bavaria near the foothills of the Alps. Mostly, European bears stick to the mountains in Romania, Slovenia, France, Austria, and Italy.

Communication between Hitler and Göring is from _Hitler's War and the Warpath_ by David Irving, pg 824.

The position of Deputy Führer was abolished in 1941, when Rudolf Hess, who held the position, fled to Britain to attempt a peace treaty against Hitler's wishes. The Deputy Führer office was replaced by the Party Chancellery and was responsible for handling Nazi Party affairs. The position was only ever held by Martin Bormann, who used it to restrict access to Hitler and to influence areas like armaments and manpower.


	29. Chapter 29: April 24

April 24, 1945

LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter were up at the crack of dawn, thanks in part to the blaring of Reveille at 0500. Taking the time to clean up and shave before hitting the Mess, breakfast was a wonderful offering of "B" rations – powdered eggs and hard biscuits, which they ate in relative silence. Afterwards, LeBeau and Newkirk went to secure their peep and repack their personal kits while Carter went to the Command center to get the daily dispatches so they could update the front lines on their map.

They were away by 0830. The roads were bumpy and the peep splashed through puddles left by heavy rains overnight. Heading roughly northeast from Erfurt, they travelled for about an hour before deciding to swing north at Buttstädt to stay safely within Allied-occupied territory. The lines were constantly shifting in this area, and while the Allies were gaining ground daily, it had only been four days before that Leipzig had been taken by the US 69th Infantry Division. Moving east again, they passed through more villages showing the brunt of the recent fighting – piles of rubble where old and beautiful buildings once stood. Even those looking unscathed from a distance showed pock marks from bullet and shrapnel ricochets on close inspection. Some of the small hamlets appeared deserted; at least no one was challenging the progression of one lone American peep across the country-side.

Occasionally, Newkirk would swerve the vehicle off the road simply because it wasn't there any more; shell craters left gaping holes where the path should have been. Thankful the peep could handle any type of terrain, Newkirk managed to keep the vehicle upright and going in the general direction they needed to go. The only thing that really suffered was their tailbones as they collided with the thinly padded seats every time they jostled over the uneven ground, both on and off the road.

They gained Leipzig just before noon, using their travel documents from Major Sullivan to clear several check points in and around the city. The city had been hard hit by the latest fighting, all the more harsh due to its freshness.

"Hey! Look!" said Carter, pointing to a dilapidated building up ahead. As the peep rumbled past, Newkirk and LeBeau took note of the shop Carter had spotted. It had been a book store, as evidenced by the heavy wooden shelves seen through the broken front windows. A few remaining hard covers from the window display were in disarray behind the shattered glass and some volumes lay open, their pages tattered and blowing in the breeze. The sign which once hung proudly over the door, now swung precariously by only one nail still proclaiming the premises as _Buchhandlung des Klink_ – Klink's Bookshop.

"Any relation, you think?" asked Carter.

"Well, that Major Pruhst from the Gestapo claimed the ol' Bald Eagle was from 'ere. Seem to recall him sayin' somethin' about Klink workin' in his father's store until he graduated. But then again, Pruhst also thought the gov'na was a saboteur so ya can't put much stock in that!" exclaimed Newkirk. LeBeau and Carter laughed recalling the close call Hogan had had with the Gestapo Major back at the beginning of the year.

The trio carried on to the town square in the heart of Leipzig where the 69th had set up a command post. Carter checked in with the commander, gaining permission to stay for a lunch and rest break.

Glad to be able to walk around for awhile after hours of sitting in the peep, the team broke out their C rations and joined several of the Infantry men at their impromptu dining area – a former sidewalk café whose tables and chairs were still serviceable once righted and cleared of dust and debris. They chatted with a few of the more friendly Army guys; with no one but themselves for company while driving for hours, they were grateful to have new people to talk to. When the conversation trailed into silence, the rumble of shelling could be heard in the distance. The team learned the front lines were not very far away, Leipzig being a fall back position for wounded and resupply.

The US troops were very close to pushing through to join up with the Soviets, one of their Sergeants explained. When that happened, the German army would be divided with the soldiers to the south completely cut off from Berlin. When the Infantryman spoke of it, you could see the gleam in his eyes – the joining of Eastern and Western Fronts would be a momentous occasion after a lot of hard-earned ground gained over weeks of battle.

After downing their food and seeing to 'other' needs, the team gathered around the peep. A decision had to be made. LeBeau spread their map over the hood of the vehicle and pointed to a small dot in the center of the map.

"This is where we are, _mes amis_," he said. "We need to decide where we go from here. Where and when do you want to cross into hostile territory?"

"Looks like we got a couple a choices, mates. We can either go north through Dessau or double back some an' go through Magdeburg," said Newkirk, tracing both paths on the map.

"Well, I was talking to the Major in the Command Post," said Carter, "and he said the Dessau area is still in German hands, although the Allies hold Magdeburg."

"So we switch inta German uniforms and travel through Dessau. It's the shortest way ta Berlin," stated Newkirk firmly.

"But Pierre, we would have to abandon the peep and the gear as well as crossing the front lines. We'd be walking until we could get hold of a German vehicle. It might take us longer that way."

"It does sound more dangerous," said Carter, thinking over what both men had said but also remembering his promise to Colonel Hogan to keep the guys safe.

"Well we gotta cross over at some point. Might as well get it done with and it ain't somethin' we's not use ta doin'. It's already takin' us twice as long as we figured ta get this far. The gov'na's on 'is own and I for one want ta get there and find 'im," stressed Newkirk, his accent coming on thicker as he got more agitated.

LeBeau was waffling, considering what Newkirk had pointed out. He too wanted to get to the Colonel as quickly as possible. The delays were wearing on all the men. The three of them stared at the map as if waiting for the answer to leap off the page.

Carter had fallen silent during the exchange. LeBeau noticed the thoughtful look on his face.

"What are you thinking about, André?" he prodded.

"I was thinking about lunch," replied Carter in his typically vague way.

"Blimey, we just ate, Andrew! Ya can't possibly be 'ungry already!" scolded Newkirk in exasperation.

"No, no! I wasn't thinking about eating – I was thinking about what the soldier _said_ during lunch. The Eastern and Western fronts are going to meet any time now just a little northeast of here. We already know the Soviets have practically encircled Berlin. What if we wait for the link up and then travel through Russian territory to Berlin?"

"I 'ate the thought of delayin' any more," began Newkirk, weighing the possibilities while he studied the map.

"_Oui_, but if we can keep all our gear until we get right up to the city, we'd much better off," chipped in LeBeau.

"We might have some difficulties dealing with the Soviet soldiers, but hopefully our travel permit would be accepted. They are supposed to be our Allies," added Carter.

"Ok, but how long do we wait? That bloke said it would be 'soon', but we all know it could be 'ours, days, or weeks 'fore it really 'appens."

LeBeau and Carter frowned. Newkirk had a good point. They needed to get to Berlin as soon as possible. LeBeau began doing some calculations.

"Well, I figure doubling back through Magdeburg will add another two hours on to the trip. At the rate we've been travelling, that translates into at least a half day on top of the half day remaining from here. If we can travel through the Soviet areas, we could probably make it in half a day, assuming we don't run into any trouble."

"So that would mean we could stay here, uh," Carter screwed up his face trying to work out the math.

"Another half day," broke in Newkirk putting the poor Sergeant out of his misery. "If we stay in Leipzig tonight, assumin' the link up 'appens tomorrow, we won't lose any time by goin' through Russian domain. We'll get ta keep the gear all the way to Berlin, an' maybe be able ta use it ta come back, dependin' on where we 'ave ta leave it. Sounds like it might be worth the gamble."

"But if the link up doesn't happen…" started LeBeau.

"We'll have lost half a day," said Carter with a grimace. "We'll set out through Magdeburg if the link up doesn't happen by morning. Colonel Hogan will just have to hang on a little bit longer."

They all hoped it was a decision they wouldn't come to regret.

* * *

The shake-down from Göring's betrayal and subsequent order for arrest were still being felt a day later. Although unofficial as yet, he was to be stripped of his command of the Luftwaffe, being replaced by Colonel-General Robert Ritter von Greim who was immediately summoned to Berlin from Munich. On his arrival, Greim would be promoted to Field Marshall and then publicly assume the position. An unfortunate delay caused by an air raid in Munich would postpone this for several days.

Calls for more troops to reinforce Berlin were sent out by both Hitler and Jodl. Generals Holste, Wenck, Schörner, and Busse were ordered to speed up their attacks from the north-west, south-west and south. Word came in that the Ninth Army had finally been encircled to the south-east of Berlin and contact was lost with General Weidling, commander of the 56th Panzers.

Chaos was barely controlled inside the bunker. Hitler transferred the responsibility for the Eastern front to the Flensburg command center. To Hogan, it was like watching a knitter who had dropped a stitch, only to find their entire work unraveling faster than they could grab the loose threads and tie it back together. All orders seemed to be reactive, desperately trying to counteract a failure there, a command not carried out here, an unforeseen attack over there. Accusations of desertion and promises of executions were issued a dime a dozen.

A most amazing thing happened in late afternoon. General Weidling called the Führerbunker from a public phone inside Berlin. Faced with the standard accusation of desertion for being out of touch for so long, he slammed down the phone. Within half an hour, he stormed into the bunker and confronted Hitler in person. As a reward for his loyalty and passion, Weidling was appointed Battle-Commandant of Berlin; a title that sounded more glorious than it actually was since Weidling had virtually no resources with which to mount any kind of army for defence.

Late that night, Hogan was lying in bed, deep in thought. He was trying to come up with a way to further hinder the Germans. After spending another couple of hours in the radio room after dinner, he could see no way to manipulate the communiqués without being caught straight out. As he mulled over the issue, he began to think he was coming at it from the wrong angle. Perhaps manipulating the messages wasn't the answer. Perhaps preventing the messages from getting through at all would be the biggest brick wall he could throw in their path. He couldn't outright sabotage the radio – having it go up in sparks and smoke while on duty would be like painting a bulls-eye on his own chest. No, it would have to be something subtle which couldn't be repaired, something which got progressively worse day after day, reducing the radio's bandwidth until it wouldn't work at all.

And Hogan knew just how he was going to do it.

* * *

A/N: In the first season episode #3, "Kommandant of the Year", Colonel Klink said in his acceptance speech his hometown was Düsseldorf. However, in the sixth season episode #166, "Hogan's Double Life", Major Pruhst spouted Colonel Klink's history as being born in Leipzig and attending the gymnasium there, graduating 43rd in his class, working in his father's store until after his graduation, etc. I decided to go with Leipzig as Klink's hometown since a lot more detail was provided in this episode than the earlier one, and this story takes place after season six ("Hogan's Double Life" was the third last episode of the series). In the episode, the team was listening in on the coffee pot, so they would have heard Pruhst's speech in Klink's office.


	30. Chapter 30: April 25

_A/N: Sorry to be late with this. I've been on vacation - finally! - and had no access to a computer to write. Had a great time at the War and Aviation museums hanging around Panzers, Sherman tanks, Anti-aircraft guns, Messerschmidts, Spitfires, Lancaster bombers and Hitler's staff car. Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapters. On with the story!_

April 25, 1945

"What news, Andrew?" called Newkirk from across the town square where he and LeBeau waited by the peep. Carter had emerged from the Command Center after getting the daily dispatches to update their map.

"Troops have entered Torgau, Germans still hold Dessau, Americans are firm at Magdeburg, and the Russians have managed to mostly encircle Berlin," he summarized, squinting in the bright morning sunshine.

"So what do we do now?" asked LeBeau. The three men had bedded down in an abandoned but secure building for the night. In the morning, they had broken out another round of C rations for breakfast, as unappealing as beef stew was at that time of day, and managed to choke them down. Now they were gathered to plan the next leg of their journey.

"Well, it looks like we're going to have to go the Magdeburg route after all, despite what it will cost us," said Carter, unhappy at the further delay due to his decision to stay. "Sorry guys, I really thought we'd be able to go the other way."

"Blimey, don't apologize, Carter. 'ow many times as Colonel 'ogan ever apologized about a decision 'e made that didn't turn out? I'll tell ya, none! So quit beatin' yourself up over it. Besides, as a gamblin' man, it was a bet I was 'appy to make. It just didn't pay off is all."

"_Oui_, we all made the decision to stay and now we all live with the delay," said LeBeau emphatically.

Carter still wasn't happy with himself, but had to admit it was a team decision. The other guys were probably just as frustrated with themselves over the result. He sighed and helped pack the peep.

They had just finished checking and securing their supplies when the word came; the Eastern and Western Fronts had finally met. The command post was moving to Torgau immediately to set up a presence to counter the Soviet one. As the reports circulated, the remaining 69th soldiers celebrated briefly before beginning the process of tearing down the Command Post. Two Corporals and a Sergeant in the town square gave loud whoops at the news for reasons of their own.

* * *

Four days after being admitted to hospital, Hochstetter was still under the protective care of Doktor Heinkel, much to his annoyance.

"Herr Doktor, I demand to be let out of here immediately!" growled Hochstetter when Heinkel came to do rounds that morning.

"Let's examine you first," replied Siegfried calmly, who by now was well accustomed to his patient's constant demands to be released. He went through his exam step by step, making notations on the patient chart as he went. Heinkel hummed quietly to himself as he worked, which usually soothed his patients but had much the opposite affect on the Gestapo agent.

"Your lungs have fully cleared from the smoke inhalation you suffered and your broken arm does not appear to be having any complications. The cast will have to stay on for another five weeks however. The cut on your forehead seems to have healed nicely. Although I'd like to leave the stitches in for another couple of days, if you are insisting on leaving, I can remove the stitches for you today if you wish."

"Yes, I very much wish, Herr Doktor," replied Hochstetter. "And I will be leaving very soon thereafter!"

"Very well, then. Allow me to get a few items and I'll remove the stitches immediately." Doktor Heinkel left the room for several minutes while he rounded up the tools he would need to remove Hochstetter's stitches.

Before long he was back and he continued to talk while he worked on his patient.

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave here?" he asked while snipping the threads.

"I need to return to work," replied Hochstetter, wincing as the Doktor pulled the first knot out with his tweezers.

"But surely there is no work to return to. Has no one kept you informed on what is happening out there? Your Gestapo headquarters was destroyed in the air raid in which you were injured. The Russians have pretty much encircled Berlin and bomb the city center both day and night. The SS are rounding up anyone capable of firing a gun to defend the city and the Führer has gone to ground, vowing to defend Berlin until the bitter end. Things have changed very much for the worse for the German people while you've been our guest."

Hochstetter silently took in the Doktor's words, aghast at the turn of events while he'd been recuperating. Suddenly he didn't feel too well.

"Perhaps you are right after all, Herr Doktor," said Hochstetter weakly, grunting as another stitch was pulled. "I should stay in your most capable care until I am fully recovered. I would hate to suffer a relapse and endanger my fellow soldiers when I am unfit for duty."

Heinkel managed to hold in a snort at the Gestapo agent's hasty change of heart. He had suspected the Lieutenant Colonel was all bark and no bite. Years of dealing with all sorts of patients had made him particularly adept at judging a person's character. He tugged a little more viciously at the next stitch and smothered the smile of satisfaction at the yelp it received before removing the others with his previous care.

"I trust my nurses will have no more difficulties with you as a patient?" said Heinkel, more as a statement than as a question. He moved to disinfect the area around the cut, then bandaged it as the stitches had bled a little in their removal.

Hochstetter meekly agreed and settled back on his pillow while the Doktor cleaned up his equipment and left to continue his rounds. Thoughts were churning rapidly inside Hochstetter's head.

_What do__ I do now?_ Hochstetter had always believed in the Third Reich, the Führer, and Germany winning the war. It was all he had worked on and devoted himself to for the last ten years of his life. To be faced with the utter defeat the Doktor seemed to predict shook the foundations of his faith. For a man who had always prided himself on looking at all possibilities, including those which were unpopular or highly unlikely for the truth, he had never planned for the remotest chance of losing the war.

Hochstetter had a lot to think about.

* * *

"Guten tag, Manitz," said Hogan as he entered the Communications room.

"Hauptsturmführer Strauss, what are you doing here?" asked the Master Sergeant with surprise.

"Thought maybe you might want to take a break, grab an early lunch. There might be some strudel left if you hurry."

"Wow, strudel? Must be a special occasion," said Manitz, rising from his chair and stretching. "Things have been slow this morning. Nagel had to run an errand but should be back shortly. You'll be okay on your own?"

"If it's as slow as you say, there probably won't be any messages anyway. You won't be gone long and Nagel's on his way back. I'll be fine." Hogan gave an easy smile. "Besides, you're the one who said what a fast learner I was. Go. That's an order."

"Yes sir!" said Manitz with a laugh as he exited the room.

Now on his own, Hogan was able to work some magic of his own on the radio. Popping off one of the side panels, he exposed the fuse board. Quickly unscrewing one of the fuses, he replaced it with a burned out one he'd found in the supply room. With garbage disposal kept to a bare minimum, used parts had been put back into storage making it easy for Hogan to grab a faulty fuse. He had also made sure the remaining good fuses, of which there were only a couple anyway, would never be found.

Finishing up, Hogan replaced the panel cover and took his seat at the other station, pleased with his work. He would be able to truthfully report his radio was working the entire time Manitz was away. It wouldn't be until sometime after Nagel got on duty that the blown fuse would be discovered.

* * *

Newkirk drove the peep in the procession of vehicles which marked the moving of the 69th Infantry Command Post. The guys had helped with the packing; figuring the faster the Command Post got moved, the faster they'd get to Torgau. The flyboys had suffered some good-natured teasing at the hands of the Army grunts but they had been appreciative of the extra set of hands. For the Stalag 13 trio, it was safer travelling with the convoy but once again they were set back a couple of hours.

It was now nearing noon as they reached the designated meeting area on their side of the Elbe River. Across the way, they could see Russian soldiers milling about. The original bridge was in quite a state of disrepair; virtually uncrossable by anything other than a person picking their way carefully. Fortunately, the Army Engineers were putting up a new span beside the original in order to allow a safer crossing for both man and machine.

The officers from both sides met; lengthy discussions were held. Newkirk paced by the peep, smoking a constant chain of cigarettes while they waited. LeBeau leaned against the side of the vehicle watching him and Carter was sprawled across the front seat catching some early spring sun amidst the chaos. More and more vehicles were pouring into central Torgau as war correspondents flocked to the site of the historic link up. Additional Army support staff also moved in, setting up a more permanent Mess to fix B rations, an expanded Communications Center, and quarters for the soldiers to sleep.

"Sergeant Carter!" A burly corporal came lumbering from the direction of the tent where the discussions were being held. Carter sat up at the call of his name and went to follow the soldier back to the tent.

Once inside, Carter stopped to salute the gathering of officers from both the US and Russian Armies. To one side, a group of Public Relations clerks were creating a sign which read "East meets West" for a photo session being done later in the day. The Major in charge of the US 69th Infantry Division's Command Post introduced Carter to the head of the 1st Ukrainian Front of the Red Army, who spoke decent English.

"Sergeant Carter, I understand you have travel document to go to Berlin, da?" asked the Russian Colonel.

"Yes, sir. We need to get there as soon as possible. We've been having several delays and were hoping to make up time by having help crossing through the area held by the Russian Armies."

"Is tricky having US soldiers crossing through Russian territory. Why you need to go to Berlin?"

"Uh, actually I'm the only American. I'm travelling with a Frenchman and an Englishman, both Corporals. We're under orders by British Intelligence."

The Russian officer's eyebrows shot straight up his forehead at that admission. "Intelligence." He snorted. "You after Hitler, da?"

"No, sir. Uh, nyet?" said Carter, trying to recall the very few words Sam Minsk had taught him during his brief stay in camp. "I'm not allowed to tell you what our mission is."

"Then you no go through Russian lands," said the Russian Colonel, dismissing the subject as closed.

Carter frowned. This wasn't going the way he had hoped. "But we have to go this way!" he exclaimed. "If we can just go straight from here to Berlin it will save us hours of doubling back, crossing through German lands until we got to the Russian area surrounding Berlin before breaking through to German territory again. We could keep our equipment with us. Please, sir, all we want to do is retrieve one of our guys who's trapped in Berlin. We don't care what happens to Hitler or any of his guys."

"You have operative trapped in Berlin?"

Carter nodded.

"That only reason?"

Again Carter nodded.

"He must be very important."

Carter thought his head would fall off it was nodding so much.

"Da. Okay. I will allow travel permit through Russian land on one condition."

"Thank you! That's great, boy! I mean sir! What condition?"

"You have Russian with you until you cross lines into Berlin. I have airman who was shot down and needs assignment. He travel with you in case any trouble, da?"

"Da, da! Yes, it's a good idea. Thank you, sir! Uh, spa-se-bo? Russian's not really my language."

The Russian officer turned to one of his support staff and started speaking rapidly in Russian. The Captain hurried out of the tent. The Colonel turned back to Carter.

"He gone to fetch Lieutenant Piotkin. You wait here for him then you can go."

Carter stood to the side of the tent while he waited, trying to stay out of the way. The officers were in deep discussions again. Support staff for both sides was scurrying in and out of the tent. Around ten minutes later, the Captain finally returned from his errand and fetched Carter outside to meet his escort.

"Igor?" asked Carter in disbelief. "You're our escort?"

"Carter? Da, it's me! I made it back to Russia to fly once more. I've been flying numerous glorious missions. I was just shot down again a few days ago, but landed inside our lines this time. Is Colonel Hogan here? Newkirk? LeBeau? What's this about going to Berlin?"

"Boy, I tell ya, this is great! Come on, Newkirk and LeBeau are waiting by the peep." Carter grabbed Piotkin by the arm and propelled him towards where the vehicle was waiting.

"Hey Newkirk! LeBeau! Look who I found!" Carter shouted with excitement.

"Igor? What in blazes is 'e doin' 'ere, Carter?" asked Newkirk, not believing his eyes.

"We've been granted permission to travel on the Russian side to Berlin as long as we have an escort. This is our escort!" Carter was grinning from ear to ear.

"_Sacre chats!_ I don't believe it," said LeBeau.

"Come on! Let's get going. Igor, we'll explain on the way," said Carter, making motions for everyone to get inside the vehicle. It was a tight fit with one extra body; they had only allowed seating for three when they packed. Newkirk started the peep and they headed out over the newly constructed bridge across the Elbe. LeBeau got his maps out again and began plotting the route to Berlin. Carter, squished in the rear with Igor, answered all Igor's questions about why they were going to Berlin before being diverted into an in-depth discussion on Russian socio-economics.

Things were finally starting to look up.

* * *

A/N: Elbe Day is celebrated every year in Torgau to mark the meeting of US 69th Infantry Division and 1st Ukrainian Front of the Red Army: the East and West Fronts.

Sergeant Vladimir "Sam" Minsk was the Russian POW in the pilot episode. His character was dropped from the regular series.

Lieutenant Igor Gregorvich Piotkin is from episode #74 (season 3) "A Russian is Coming".

Gestapo Headquarters located at Prinz-Albrecht Strasse 8, was severely damaged in bombing runs late in WW2 and fully demolished by 1956. Its location ended up on the fringe of West Berlin, with the Berlin Wall running practically on top of it. In 1987, it was excavated as part of Berlin's 750th anniversary and an outdoor museum was founded on the site called the Topography of Terror (www (dot) topographie (dot) de). It is possible to visit some of the excavated prisoner cells from the basement of Gestapo HQ.

While it is documented that the Führerbunker had ongoing and worsening radio problems beginning around the last week of April 1945, there still remains no concrete proof as to whether Hogan was or was not responsible.


	31. Chapter 31: April 26

April 26, 1945

Things were not looking so 'up' in the bunker below Berlin.

General Weidling was having a difficult time mounting a defence for Berlin. He had managed to gather 2700 Hitler Youths into a tank killing brigade charged primarily with defending the local bridges. Admiral Dönitz arranged to have 2000 troops air lifted into Berlin to reinforce what little Weidling had to work with, since most of the capital's defences had been sent to the disastrous Oder campaign weeks before. As such, Weidling had very few of his own tanks with which to fight back with and most of the troops he did have were substandard soldiers and police units. He was certainly welcoming of Dönitz's elite corps of ground troops.

Weidling was working miracles. He managed to recapture some of the Berlin suburbs and put a chink in the Soviet ring surrounding Berlin, with help from the outside by Field Marshall Schörner's army group to the south.

Heavy casualties were being felt throughout Berlin. The few hospitals in the city were completely overwhelmed. As such, Hogan was appointed the duty of turning the Voß bunker into a field hospital for the wounded. It had been used by Berlin's hospital and welfare system back in 1939 with numerous children being born under the New Chancellery, so it was just a matter of restoring it to its former use. Hogan found himself requisitioning cots, clearing rooms, appropriating supplies and directing unlisted men to carry out the tasks involved. When complete, over two thousand would be able to be treated in the safety of the underground fortress.

Secretly, Hogan was happy to be able to help the German soldiers and it had nothing to do with losing himself to his Strauss persona. Many of the injured would be good military men following orders whose leaders didn't know when to give in and call it a war. For the rest, they were children; misguided Hitler Youths who deserved the right to grow up. They should never have experienced the agony of a bullet wound or shrapnel from an exploding shell before they'd even kissed their first girl. Anger at the situation burned deep in Hogan's gut. This war needed to end _now_.

* * *

"And that is when Russia invented the airplane," said Igor. He had been talking non-stop since joining the team the day before. He even managed to mumble in his sleep.

"Gee, Igor, I'm pretty sure the airplane was invented in 1903 by the Wright brothers in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina," said Carter with a scowl on his face. "I'm positive that's what we learned in school."

"Pshaw," scoffed Igor. "How many Russian inventions do you know of anyway?"

"You mean besides vodka?" chipped in Newkirk from where he was driving in the front seat of the peep.

"Well, I can't think of any," said Carter with a shrug.

"Da, so how do you know airplane is not Russian?" argued Igor.

"I'm still pretty sure it was Orville and Wilbur…" replied Carter sullenly, not getting any support from his British or French companions.

"Okay you two," cut in LeBeau. "We're nearing Glasow. I think this is as far as we can go as Allied personnel."

The foursome had travelled north after leaving Torgau the day before. They had not met with any resistance from either Soviet or German forces, but there were very few villages on the route they had chosen. They had passed a few Russian troops on manoeuvres but Igor handled the encounters easily and their group was pretty much deemed harmless. They travelled all afternoon, making it safely through Groß Machnow on the outside of the Berlin ring road just before dinner. Due to the proximity of the front lines and daylight which would be fading shortly after supper, they decided to hole up for the night in the woods, concealing the peep just off the road. They drifted off to sleep to the sounds of Russian artillery shelling Berlin.

When they awoke this morning, they decided to chance moving a few miles closer to the city in the peep. It was difficult to determine where the lines really were. Much of the land they were travelling through was wide-open farmers' fields interspersed with some uncleared forest. The nearby villages were off the road they were taking, and the group was just as happy avoiding more populated areas. Looking at a map, from their current location they could have driven straight into the heart of Berlin to the underground bunker where Hogan was and found him in less than forty minutes. Unfortunately, they were oblivious to how close to their goal they really were.

The team recognized they had to exercise extreme caution from this point forward. They were walking into a war zone where they didn't clearly belong to one side or the other and they didn't know where Colonel Hogan, or rather Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss, was. Berlin was a big place. It would be like searching for a needle in a hay stack.

The first course of action was to steal a local vehicle from the area around Blankenfelde. Their US Army vehicle was looking more and more out of place the closer they got to Berlin. Donning their German uniforms after digging them out from the bottom of the supplies and arming themselves with rifles and Lugers, the Stalag 13 trio left Piotkin with the concealed peep and set off on foot to go through the nearby residential streets.

They were deserted. Some residences showed evidence of a hasty departure, with empty closets and drawers standing silent witness to their abandonment. Others were neat and tidy like the owners had just stepped out for a trip to the corner store. Still more looked ransacked, with furniture overturned, cupboards with doors open wide, and a variety of personal items such as trinkets or clothing strewn haphazardly across the floors.

It was towards the end of one of these streets where the trio ran into some luck. The first homes had been ransacked, but further down the street, whoever had been looting the area had obviously been recalled because these dwellings were untouched. Checking out a barn-like garage behind one house, the team found a car in decent-looking condition. Unable to start the car, they headed inside the home to search for the keys with Newkirk working his magic on the house's door.

"Hello? Anybody home?" shouted Carter in German. Receiving no response, LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk proceeded inside.

The door opened onto a little foyer which in turn opened to the living room on the right. Straight ahead was the kitchen, and then two bedrooms and a bathroom were located at the rear of the bungalow. LeBeau began searching the living room and Newkirk the hall closet, leaving Carter to go through to the kitchen. Finding nothing, they headed to the back of the house, Carter and Newkirk taking the bedrooms and LeBeau the bathroom.

LeBeau and Carter had just joined Newkirk in the largest bedroom when Carter startled.

"What was that?" he asked, voice just above a whisper.

"What was what?" asked LeBeau.

"I thought I heard something," replied Carter.

"We've been through the 'ole 'ouse; there's nothing 'ere," said Newkirk.

"Shhhh! There it is again!" insisted Carter.

LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged a glance and a shrug. Carter went to investigate the noise he heard.

"Be careful, _mon ami_," cautioned LeBeau.

Carter eased himself across the room towards the closet on the far side, pausing to listen every once in a while. He drew his gun to be on the safe side. LeBeau and Newkirk did the same and took up stances behind him. Carter neared the door and was positive the source of the sound was inside the closet. He took the safety off his gun, hearing the clicks as Newkirk and LeBeau did so as well. Carter looked back at his friends. They nodded they were ready. Grasping the handle to the closet door, Carter twisted it and pulled, flinging the door wide.

Carter sagged in relief as he recognized the ball of fur on the closet floor as a cat. Putting the safety back on his gun, he reholstered it and bent down to pet the trapped feline.

"Hey, there little fella," he said softly, holding his hand out so the animal could catch his scent. "How long have you been trapped in there, huh? Bet you're glad we came along, eh boy?" Carter continued to speak calmly. The cat, realizing the door was open and he was finally free, swiftly darted between Carter's legs and out of the bedroom.

Newkirk meanwhile had located an item on the dresser and was swinging it from his index finger.

"If you're through playin' with the local wildlife, mate, I believe I 'ave found what we've been searchin' for. One set o' car keys," said Newkirk. "Can we get out of 'ere now?"

Laughing at their close call with the four-legged intruder, the trio headed out of the abandoned home to claim their prize. Newkirk once again appropriated the driver's seat and LeBeau rode shot gun. That was when they noticed Carter wasn't with them.

"Where's 'e gone off to now?" asked Newkirk with a tinge of annoyance tempered with a hint of worry.

"Don't know, Pierre. Should we go look for him?" asked LeBeau, concerned for his other team mate.

Newkirk was just about to reach for the handle of the car door when Carter came bounding out of the house.

"And just where 'ave you been?" scolded Newkirk as Carter climbed into the back seat.

"I had to feed the cat," said Carter, puffing slightly from his dash across the yard.

"Carter!" admonished LeBeau and Newkirk together.

Excited by their good fortune in finding the car and adrenaline still running high from their closet encounter, they quickly drove the vehicle to where they had left Igor.

Afternoon was fast approaching and they were still no closer to Berlin. Preparation was key at this point and they were all well aware rushing could prove disastrous in the not-so-distant future.

"So how do you want to do this?" asked Carter.

"I guess we have two choices, _mes amis_," replied LeBeau, looking at each of his team mates. "We either go as Germans or as civilians."

"My vote's for Germans," said Newkirk. "We know Germans still 'old Berlin so we'll blend right in."

"Hmm," Carter made a noise not altogether in agreement.

"My vote is for civilian," countered LeBeau. "We still have Russian territory to cross. We'd be better trying to sneak into Berlin wearing normal clothes."

Carter didn't disagree with that either.

"I say you should go as Russians. They are by far the best!" said Igor.

"Oi, right. And we'd be shot straight off as soon as we set foot in the city!" chided Newkirk. "We're trying ta not be caught, remember? And there's the wee matter o' not 'avin' any Russian uniforms." At least Igor had the decency to look chagrined.

"Well, Carter? Vote's one a piece. Which way's you siding?" asked Newkirk.

"Gosh, I don't know. They both have their pros and cons," replied Carter with a frown. "I don't want to guess wrong. We just don't know what the situation is inside Berlin, so I don't know which would be better. Can't we do both?"

"No Andrew, we can't do both!" said Newkirk in exasperation.

"Maybe we can," said LeBeau with a grin on his face.

"And just 'ow do you reckon that?" said Newkirk.

"We travel as civilians – much better for the last few miles in case we run into Russians. However," and LeBeau paused a little dramatically before revealing his idea, "we make sure we take the German uniforms with us in case we find out it would be better to be wearing them instead!"

"We could load stuff in the trunk of the car," suggested Carter.

"And if we's stopped and searched, we're done for," said Newkirk, shooting down Carter's plan.

"I hadn't thought of that," said LeBeau a little regretfully.

"It would work if we hid them," said Carter. "Under the floor boards or the seats. Maybe in the lining of the trunk?"

"_Oui_, that could work!" said LeBeau with enthusiasm. "_Formidable!"_

"Alright, then let's get to it!" agreed Newkirk.

They had brought some tools with them from Stalag 13's motor pool so they quickly dug them out of the peep and got to work on the car after changing into civilian clothes. It didn't take long to practically gut the entire interior of the vehicle. They were able to store the weapons and dynamite under the back seat, which was rigged to be easily flipped up to access their little armory in an emergency. The uniforms, both German and their own, were stored behind the backseat between the moulding of the trunk and the seat back along with some medical supplies. They stowed the C rations in the wheel wells of the trunk and some extra clothing under the passenger seat. The tool box they left in the open of the trunk, figuring it would be something regular people carried in the back of their cars and it looked less suspicious than a totally empty 'boot' as Newkirk called it. Finally they felt they were as prepared as they were going to get.

Igor had helped the team with the preparations, but now they were complete, it was time to say good-bye. His orders had been to take them as far as Berlin. The team had reasoned there was no way to know when or where they'd be coming back out of the city so there was no sense in Igor waiting for them. He would be taking the peep and the extra equipment back to Torgau so it wouldn't be discovered.

"Well, Igor, guess we're about ready to go," said Carter. "Thanks for all your help. We couldn't have made it this far without ya."

"You are welcome my friends. It is the least I can do for getting me back to Russia a few years ago. I hope you are successful. Dasvidanja!" replied Igor, shaking hands with all the men. "And Good Luck!"

* * *

One of the first casualties to be treated in the Voß bunker's new hospital wing came that evening as General Greim limped into the shelter, having been shot in the leg. Finally able to make his way out of Munich as he had been ordered two days previously, his plane had made a not-so-graceful crash landing on the boulevard rather than landing at the city's Berlin-Templehof airport three kilometers south of the bunker. Hitler sat at Greim's bedside, petulantly describing the events leading up to his promotion: Göring's eloquently phrased 'ultimatum' and the illustrious Luftwaffe's history of failure. At ten pm, German radio officially broadcast Greim's promotion to Field Marshal and his appointment as Göring's successor. Hitler ordered his new Luftwaffe commander to concentrate his Messerschmitt jet squadrons around Prague, Czechoslovakia.

Sidetracked from his self-appointed duty shifts in the Communications room by setting up the hospital, Hogan was unable to perform any further sabotage on the radio during the day. What he had done previously had had some effect however, limiting contact with the armies to the east.

Despite being totally exhausted from his hospital assignment, Hogan knew he had to try to inflict some further damage to the communications center. Knowing he couldn't take a duty shift and manage to stay awake, he decided to try a quick method of sabotage which would allow him to seek the refuge of his bed before too long.

Slipping into one of the engineering rooms in a seldom used area of the bunker, Hogan thanked German efficiency for having everything labelled. Opening the fuse box, he found the feed for the radio antennae. He knew he couldn't snip the wires because it would be obvious someone was committing sabotage but he had another plan. Taking a vial of water and an eye dropper from where he'd hidden it in his uniform pocket after liberating it from the newly arrived hospital supplies, he proceeded to squeeze a few droplets onto the fuse box. He let gravity do the work for him and wick the liquid inside the panel. Shutting the panel, he quickly left the maintenance room and let nature run its course. As he left the room, a soft sizzle and pop met his ears. Hogan happily returned to his quarters and found himself smiling as he collapsed into his bed and immediately fell asleep.

* * *

In the end, the team decided it would be better to enter Berlin at night. Soldiers would be bedded down for the evening, so they could avoid any infantry battles and the darkness would hinder any snipers in the area. The shelling was targeted to the center of the city, so they reasoned they could get to the outskirts safely and begin their search in the morning. Now they just had to avoid any patrols, both Russian and German alike.

Newkirk drove steadily northwards in the twilight, the last rays of the sun barely giving him enough light to keep on the road. Once that was gone, he tried switching on the headlights but found they were much too bright and would attract too much attention. LeBeau had the brilliant idea to cover the headlights with mud; heavy on the top and bottom, and enough over the middle to dim the intensity. They also blacked out the tail lights.

They travelled slowly with the windows down to attempt to hear any approaching vehicles. When nearing a crossroad, Carter and LeBeau would get out of the car and scout ahead on foot to see if there was any traffic or patrols to encounter. Giving the all clear, Newkirk would bring the car up and the others would get back in. They reached the first suburb of Berlin, Lichtenrade, without incident.

This part of the city seemed fairly quiet and deserted. There was a lot of destruction and Newkirk had to weave up and down side roads to avoid areas where buildings had collapsed across the way. LeBeau and Carter frequently got out to do more scouting.

It was on one of these reconnoitres shouting was heard. Spotting a niche formed where a building's wall had collapsed and leaned against another building, Newkirk barely squeezed the car inside without damaging the paint. The armed trio stayed in the shadows, praying not to be discovered. Hearts pounding made it difficult to hear any approaching noises but they waited patiently for the patrol to pass. Soon they heard the clomping of boots grow louder and the occasional order snapped out gruffly. They held their breath, relieved when the sounds faded and they remained undetected.

The team waited another fifteen minutes before doing another survey of the nearby area, communicating through hand signals and whispers. They knew they weren't deep enough into Berlin as yet; they recognized the orders spoken by the patrol were in Russian. They had to keep going and try to make German territory under the cover of darkness. Satisfied they were alone, they piled into the car again and continued on their way through the suburb of Mariendorf.

Things seemed to change subtly as they drove through this part of the city. They came to realize this was where the front lines were. Carter spotted a Panzer on one of his explorations and LeBeau found some impromptu barriers and sandbag bunkers with machine guns at the ready on one of his.

Not every street had a blockade, and the team managed to find one which appeared unguarded and wide enough to allow passage of their vehicle. Not wanting to raise awareness by anyone nearby, they put the car in neutral and pushed it several blocks to where they estimated the lines were and several blocks beyond before daring to start the engine and drive once more, figuring the shelling would obscure the noise.

It was long after midnight when they reached the next suburb of Templehof. Knowing they were now in German-held Berlin well away from the front lines and realizing sleep was in order, Carter called a halt for the night. They needed to concentrate now on finding refuge where they could grab some sleep. They managed to find an auto-repair shop a few blocks away with an empty garage still standing. The team parked for the night, curling up in the seats to catch what rest they could, knowing tomorrow the search for their lost commander would begin in earnest.

* * *

A/N: 'Formidable' in French means terrific or tremendous (not to be confused with 'formidable' in English meaning arousing fear or admiration). 'Dasvidanja' is good-bye in Russian.


	32. Chapter 32: April 27

April 27, 1945

The team awoke at dawn with stiff limbs and kinks in their necks from sleeping in awkward positions in the car all night. C rations were broken out from the car wheel wells and a discussion soon started over breakfast as to how to find their Colonel.

"So Carter, any ideas on 'ow we's ta go about findin' the gov'na?" asked Newkirk as he chewed his meat and potato hash.

"Well, we could go ask somebody," replied Carter.

"Just who are you thinking of asking?" said LeBeau, doctoring up his meat and beans with pepper and spices he smuggled into the supplies.

"I dunno; everybody we run into?" said Carter, puzzled.

Newkirk snorted. "We've spent the 'ole bloody time tryin' to _avoid_ people; now you want to go knockin' door ta door ta see if they know the gov'na?"

"Well I don't see you coming up with anything!" Carter's anger flared quickly after the poor night's sleep and the stress he'd been feeling at running the team.

"Calm down, André. You too, Pierre," inserted LeBeau before things got out of hand. "You know, what you are suggesting isn't so bad; we just have to ask the right people in the right way."

"'ow's you mean, Louie?" asked Newkirk, scraping the bottom of his ration tin with his spoon.

"We wear the German uniforms and use the forged papers we brought to show we were to report to Haupstürmfuhrer Erlich Strauss. Unfortunately, the communiqué we received was interrupted before we got the full details of his location. We find some patrols, maybe a command center, and see if anyone knows where he is. _Voila!_"

"Hey, what a great idea LeBeau!" said Carter enthusiastically. "And with orders to report to Strauss, nobody will be able to draft us into their command to fight. Sounds like a plan."

The boys cleaned up after finishing their breakfast. Newkirk used the auto shop's office to complete the forgery work on their papers. Decked out in their German uniforms, the team continued in the car heading north. Coming across a patrol, they asked if they knew Strauss' whereabouts. Receiving negative answers, they then asked for directions to the nearest command post, which sent them west.

The day progressed in a similar fashion. No one knew of Erlich Strauss or where he was stationed. Most of the soldiers the team encountered had been recently deployed into Berlin and hadn't been stationed here from the start.

After spending hours moving through the city, disappointment in not finding a single clue as to the Colonel's whereabouts was weighing heavily on everyone. In the back of their minds, they secretly thought to just drive into Berlin and find Hogan standing on the nearest corner waiting to be picked up. 'Easy as pie' as Carter would say. Well, maybe not exactly but no one anticipated it turning into a search for a needle in a haystack of this magnitude.

They stopped the car near a small park and got out to stretch. They thought about having lunch, but also wanted to preserve their finite supply of rations. In the end, they decided to wait and have an early dinner, limiting their meals to only two per day.

It was while they were out of the car that LeBeau noticed a sad looking young boy across the street. He was standing behind some bushes in a self-dug shallow trench. LeBeau went over to him and found a child in a uniform many sizes too large for him.

"Hey, there. Aren't you a little young to be a soldier?" asked LeBeau.

"Nein!" said the boy, offended. "I'm a Hitler Youth fighting to save Berlin! If I do my job well, the Führer himself will reward me!" But after the brash declaration, he seemed to shrink into himself again.

"What job are you suppose to do?" asked LeBeau cautiously.

The boy rolled a little from within the trench revealing an anti-tank grenade lying beside him. Seeing the grenade, LeBeau immediately called for Carter to come over as the explosives expert.

Carter approached the boy carefully, not wanting him to make any sudden moves which might set off the grenade. Newkirk followed, wondering what the commotion was about, but hung back slightly as it was obvious the boy was very frightened of everyone. Tears had started to trickle down the boy's face.

"Hi there!" said Carter very softly, squatting down to the boy's level. "My name's Andrew. What's yours?"

"Kurt," replied the boy tentatively.

"It's very nice to meet you, Kurt. I really like your name. How old are you?" asked Carter with interest.

"I'm six, but I'm going to be seven in a couple of months!" said Kurt proudly.

"Wow, seven? That's practically grown up. I see you've got a very dangerous piece of equipment you're hiding there. Can I ask what you are going to do with it?"

Kurt relaxed more and more as Carter spoke evenly and LeBeau could see the boy begin to trust Carter.

"I have orders, just like a real soldier," said Kurt.

"What are your orders, Kurt? I'm a real soldier too so it's okay to tell me," replied Carter.

"I have to lie in wait here, and when a Soviet tank comes by, I have to run under it and explode the grenade."

"Do you know how to do that?" Carter asked. Kurt shook his head no. He was practically sobbing by this point, getting further distressed as he thought he was in trouble for not knowing how to carry out his orders.

"Okay, shhhh, it's okay, Kurt. Please calm down," soothed Carter, reaching for the boy but withdrawing again as Kurt flinched. Carter thought for a moment. "How would you like some new orders? I have something much more important for you to do."

"You do?" said the boy, wiping his eyes on a grimy shirt sleeve. Hope seemed to brighten his face a little.

"You bet I do. See, the three of us are on a mission. We have to find somebody very important but nobody seems to know where he is. It looks like it could take us a long time to find our friend and we've never been in Berlin before. Do you think you could help us?"

"Yeah, sure! I know a lot about this part of town. What do you want me to do?" asked Kurt eagerly.

"Do you think you could ask around anybody you know and see if they know where Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss is? He's the man we're looking for."

"Of course!" replied Kurt brightly. "Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss – got it!"

"Well, then, off you go. We'll be around here for the next hour or so, so report back to me then. Dismissed!" Carter returned Kurt's salute and then the boy ran off, quickly disappearing between the buildings.

"You were bloody brilliant, Carter," said Newkirk, finally coming closer and clapping a hand on Carter's shoulder. "You saved that boy's life."

"_Oui_. Those filthy _Boches_! Giving a suicide assignment like that to a mere child! It makes me so angry! Surely whoever gave him those orders would have realized the Russians would have shot the boy before he even reached the tank. What a waste of a precious life!"

"Gee, thanks guys." Carter let out a deep sigh of relief. "Newkirk, can you get the toolkit out of the trunk? I want to disarm this grenade before any more children come across it and get hurt."

"Right you are," agreed Newkirk as he headed back to the car to fetch the tool box for Carter. He quickly brought it back to the trench.

"Uh, LeBeau, Newkirk, you might want to move back, just in case," said Carter before kneeling down in the shallow ditch to examine the grenade. Gently rolling it over, he exposed the panel on the side. Retrieving a screwdriver from the box, he proceeded to open the panel and inspect the bomb's innards. Tracing the wires carefully, he double checked his choices of which to cut to diffuse the grenade. Certain he knew which wires to sever, he took out the wire cutters and snipped his chosen filaments. He sat back with a sigh of relief as nothing happened. Carter rolled his shoulders to alleviate the tension gathered there before grabbing the toolbox and returning it to the trunk.

"All done," he said. "It won't be hurting anyone any more."

* * *

The bunker's radio was becoming plagued with problems, from lost frequencies to intermittent static. Things had continued to progress for the worst and the entire radio system was becoming completely useless. It was now impossible to contact Flensburg and Admiral Dönitz, with Hitler having to rely on the telephone to connect with his northern command staff.

* * *

Hochstetter looked up from the book he was reading as Nurse Gretl Vischer bustled into his room. Although he was quite used to the regular interruptions by the hospital staff, it was not time for one of the regularly scheduled visits.

Hochstetter had spent some time over the last couple of days considering what he was going to do now it appeared the Allies were going to win the war but he was no closer to a resolution. Secretly he hoped to be able to stay long enough in the hospital for the war to be over and then he wouldn't have to make any decision. He would not admit to himself he was simply hiding out; he was injured which justified his staying off the front lines. The uncertainty of the situation and the lack of available updated information on the progression of Berlin's defence left him with little on which to base a choice. _Who am I kidding?_ he thought. _The Gestapo has been my life for the last several years and I'm lost without it_. Nurse Vischer interrupted his thoughts.

"Alright, Colonel, up and at 'em," she said, moving around to his closet where the remains of his clothing after the explosion hung.

"What is going on here?" demanded Hochstetter.

"It's very simple," said Dr. Heinkel as he breezed into the room. "You are being discharged today. As in, right now. We are getting overrun with wounded and we need the bed. You are not sick and your injuries have healed sufficiently for you not to necessitate being here."

"But what if I want to be here?" demanded Hochstetter, crossing his arms and showing his stubbornness against leaving willingly.

"No choice, I'm afraid, Colonel. In fact, this nice little private room is soon going to be a very cozy public ward. The additional beds will be up here in half an hour."

"But you can't do that! I am a Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel. I deserve some privileges for my rank!" protested Hochstetter.

"Colonel, you have a broken arm," said Heinkel, sighing. He was rather tired of the Gestapo man's theatrics. "You are not staying here another five weeks until the cast comes off and we _need_ _the bed_."

"You wouldn't want to deny one of your fellow soldiers a place to heal after being wounded in the defence of this great city and following the orders of the Führer, now would you Colonel?" added Vischer, playing on Hochstetter's sense of duty.

"Er, no, no, of course not," mumbled Hochstetter, hoisting himself out of bed.

"Then sign here," said Heinkel, thrusting a clipboard at Hochstetter with some discharge papers on it. Hochstetter signed where shown. "And here, and initial here." Hochstetter scribbled his name in the required spots indicated by the Doktor. "_Danke_, Herr Colonel. Here is a bottle of ASA tablets. You make take 2 six hours apart whenever your arm aches. You need to return to a hospital in four to five weeks to see how your arm is progressing. Any questions?"

"_Nein_, Herr Doktor," said Hochstetter meekly.

"_Gut_. Then I shall leave you to dress and see yourself out. I have other patients to attend to. Nurse Gretl will help you. _Wiederzehn_, Colonel," called Heinkel as he headed out the door as quickly as he had come in. If it wasn't for the bottle of pills in his hand, Hochstetter would have wondered if the Doktor had really been there at all.

"Come on then, Colonel. We'd best get you dressed. Wouldn't do to be parading around in your underwear when the maintenance boys arrive with the beds." Nurse Vischer reached for the strings tying Hochstetter's gown together. Hochstetter slapped her hand away.

"I've been getting dressed alone since I was four years old. I don't need your help now," growled Hochstetter.

"Alright then. Call if you need anything…" said Vischer as she too left the room.

"Bah!" said Hochstetter vehemently. _And my day had been going so well only ten minutes ago_, he thought as he began to untie his gown.

* * *

"So what are we going to do while we wait for Kurt to return?" asked LeBeau.

"I thought we might check out that big building over there," said Carter pointing across the park. "It looks important. Maybe someone there will know where Colonel Hogan is."

LeBeau and Newkirk shrugged in agreement and set off on foot towards the large building. Carter scrambled to catch up.

Nearing the structure, they discovered it was a hospital or 'krankenhaus'. Figuring they'd better cover all the bases in their search despite hoping their Colonel wasn't inside, the trio entered and went over to the receptionist to see what they could discover on Hogan's whereabouts.

"Excuse me, fraülein," said Newkirk in his most charming German. "I was hoping you could help me in locating someone. We're under orders to report to him, but have been unable to locate him. We're hoping he isn't checked in to this fine establishment."

"I'm not at liberty to give out information about our patients to anyone but family," replied the woman behind the desk.

"Oh, that's perfectly alright. We don't want to know what's _wrong_ with him. Just if he's actually _here_," stressed Newkirk, pointing out the technicality. "We've been searching for him for _days_ and we really need to know if he's been injured. Surely a compassionate woman such as yourself can understand our predicament; three soldiers unable to join the fight to defend Berlin because they cannot locate their superior officer. Pretty please?" Newkirk was milking it for all he was worth. He could see she was waffling.

"Alright," she said at last, giving in to Newkirk's puppy dog eyes. "What is his name?"

"Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss, SS," said Newkirk.

"I'll have to check with records. I'll be a couple of minutes," said the woman rising from her chair.

"Thank you so much, we truly appreciate it. We'll be waiting right here for your return," said Newkirk. As the receptionist disappeared into a nearby room, Newkirk went over to join Carter and LeBeau in the lobby.

"She's gone to check," said Newkirk to the others. "Won't take long, I'm told."

LeBeau nodded. Carter leaned against a nearby wall, content to watch people coming and going while he waited. Suddenly, Carter's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he stood upright with a jerk.

"Duck!" he said, hustling the others around a nearby corner and pulling his helmet down to further hide his face.

"What the --? Carter?" questioned Newkirk, startled by his team mate's reaction.

"Shhhh! He'll hear you!" whispered Carter loudly.

"Who?" asked LeBeau.

Carter didn't need to answer as a voice from the lobby carried easily to where they were hiding. Newkirk and LeBeau's eyes widened and their jaws dropped in astonishment.

"Hochstetter!" they breathed in disbelief.

* * *

Bedlam was starting to become the order of the day underneath Berlin. Hogan felt as if he was being pulled nine ways to Sunday as the demands of the hospital wing kept him hopping while he wasn't occupied in the Führerbunker. The radio was now well and truly kaput; Schmidt was reassigned to help in the hospital wing, while Nagel and Manitz pulled shifts to man the seldom-used telegraph machine. The switchboard was still operating and orders were mostly being issued directly over the phone, or relayed through another station which had both phones and a functioning radio.

Sleep was becoming a long sought-after commodity. The Russians were pushing the offensive as early as five a.m. while they continued to bomb the city center and government areas day and night. Hogan's job was to maintain the maps with the locations of the offensives going on, marking the charts with different colours to show the various relief armies.

It was a never-ending task as the war raged on. Orders were issued to the field commanders from the Führer but more often than not, they were not strictly adhered to and the modifications were causing their own problems as each commander did what they thought was best.

"It's impossible to command if every plan that's drawn up is adapted by every army commander as he sees fit!" yelled Hitler at one point when the frustration level grew too high.

The Germans were no longer fighting as a unified front. General Busse and his Ninth Army chose to drive further south towards the Americans rather than turning west as ordered to bring much-needed tanks to Berlin. Similar situations were being discovered to the north of Berlin, as Heinrici's forces were found to be in retreat instead of holding the line.

Inside the city, things weren't much better. Four Russian tanks, camouflaged by swastika pennants, invaded as far as Wilhelms Platz before they were destroyed. This prompted another rant from Hitler as he reinforced the order for all identification regulations to be strictly followed by everyone.

Stress was high and hope was dwindling.

* * *

An hour later, Kurt came bounding out from between the buildings and into the park where Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau were waiting. They had managed to avoid Hochstetter in the hospital by staying in the side corridor. Apparently he was on his way out, Carter having spotted his broken arm, and was not in the mood to linger thankfully. After waiting a few minutes to ensure Hochstetter truly had left the building for good, the trio made their way back to the Reception desk just in time to meet the nurse on duty as she returned from checking the records. No Erlich Strauss had been admitted to the hospital, she reported and the guys heaved a sigh of relief. However, they were back to searching for their missing Colonel.

Kurt skidded to a stop in front of Carter and drew himself up to attention and saluting. "Reporting as ordered, sir!" he said.

"At ease, soldier," said Carter returning the salute. "What do you have to report, Kurt?"

"Nobody I met has heard of Hauptsturmführer Strauss. My brother said as part of the SS he would be located in the center of Berlin but you don't want to go there. The Russians are bombing it day and night. It's too dangerous."

"Good job, Kurt," praised Carter. "You've just saved us a lot of leg work. That's the first lead we've had in our search."

"You won't go into the center of town will you? I don't want you to get hurt," said Kurt, worry etched on his young face.

"Well, Kurt, it looks like we might have to in order to find our friend. He'll be in a lot of trouble if the Russians are bombing like you said, and we owe it to him to help him out. Don't you worry about us, we'll be very careful. We're trained for this kind of thing, okay?"

"Okay," said Kurt but Carter could tell he wasn't completely convinced.

"You were a lot of help to us so before we go, I'm going to present you with this award to show how brave and helpful you were," said Carter. He took a decoration off his uniform and pinned it to Kurt's shirt. "Now every one will know you helped fight like real soldiers."

"Wow!" said Kurt, his eyes shining bright. "This is great! Thank you!"

"You're welcome, Kurt, and thanks for all your help. You'd better get home now before you're missed. Stay safe!"

"You too and thanks again!" called Kurt as he ran off into the rubble once more.

"André, you seem to have a way with children," said LeBeau. "_C'est terrifique!_ I could never have a kid behave like that for me."

"Oh don't sell yourself short, Louie, no pun intended. Just wait 'til you have kids. You'll see!" said Carter.

"So where to now, mates?" asked Newkirk.

"It's getting late. We should find some shelter and figure out what we're going to do about searching the center of town while we have some food, then call it a night."

Everyone agreed.

* * *

Hitler called together all his Adjutants and General Staff for a late night conference.

General Krebs reassured everyone that the battle lines around Berlin were stable once more. The breaches had been plugged mostly by Hitler Youth units as they awaited General Wenck to arrive with his army. However news of Russian snipers being spotted in Potsdamer Platz, only three blocks from the bunker, seemed to dispel the false sense of all being well. It was at this point Hitler brought out a box of small brass tubes.

Hitler ordered everyone to stand and fall in, and while it was somewhat crowded in the conference room, everyone including Hogan stood at attention around its perimeter.

"There may not be a chance to do this formally at another time," began the Führer. "I must commend each and every one of you for your extreme sense of duty and loyalty, not only to myself, but to the Fatherland and the Third Reich. Things have turned dire indeed and regretfully, this is a duty which I must solemnly perform. There is no joy to be found in it."

Hitler paused and took in his handful of faithful followers. He took the box and handed a tube to every individual in the room, pausing to shake each person's hand in gratitude for their service. Hogan returned the firm handshake and accepted the small brass casing, curious as to what was inside. He briefly rolled it around in his hand, examining it from all angles while the remaining men received their tokens. He held it loosely in his hand and returned to attention as Hitler finished his handouts and began to speak once more.

"Inside these brass casings are cyanide capsules." Hitler paused again and Hogan felt his mouth go dry and his heart beat a little faster at hearing the Führer's words. Hogan's hand began to burn where he held the deadly cylinder. _Was this to be a mass suicide?_ thought Hogan in a panic. He almost dropped his tube as sweat slicked his palm and he clutched it tighter. As he waited for Hitler to continue, Hogan wondered how he could avoid participating in such a thing. His imagination skipped over half a dozen horrifying scenarios, including being forced to swallow the capsule while Hitler personally watched and waited for each individual in line to take their turn to die. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost missed Hitler's next words.

"…only to be used if absolutely necessary. Keep it with you at all times." Hogan felt the relief wash over him in a wave of pins and needles. He took a deep breath and settled his frayed nerves. One of the Generals made a comment which Hogan missed hearing, to which Hitler replied with finality, "In this city I have had the right to command others; now I must heed the commands of Fate. Even if I could save myself here, I will not do so. The captain too goes down with his ship."

Hogan knew now what Hitler's final play in this game of war would be. There was no way a man in his position would allow himself to be captured, especially by the Russians. Hogan would have to be extra diligent if he was to thwart the Führer's ultimate checkmate.

* * *

A/N: With excerpts from _Hitler's War and the Warpath_, again.


	33. Chapter 33: April 28

April 28, 1945

No sleep was had that night. The Chancellery was under direct shellfire all night long, the heavy bombing getting on everyone's nerves with the constant pounding. Hogan was still in the conference room, receiving updates from various posts even at 0300. Hitler was pacing furiously and when he got tired of being confined in the small meeting area, he took his pacing out into the halls of the Führerbunker. The entire time he paced, he grasped a street map of Berlin and by morning it was showing definite signs of deterioration from being gripped in his sweaty palms all night.

By 0430 word came that General Busse's Ninth Army had met up with General Wenck's Twelfth, but both were on the verge of exhaustion. Further updates came in revealing the extent of Heinrici's disobedience to the Führer's orders. The northern defenses of Berlin were wide open thanks to his treason.

Hogan was dismissed shortly after 0700 to catch a couple hours sleep and a quick meal in the Mess. He'd been on duty for over twenty-six hours straight and was totally exhausted as he crashed onto his waiting bed.

* * *

"Mornin' Louie, Andrew," said Newkirk sleepily as he stretched and attempted to wake up. He was met with a few grunts and a mumbled something which ended in "Pierre". Moods were somewhat sour this morning. The bombings had kept them awake most of the night, or disturbed them often when they did manage to nod off. In addition, they were hungry due to the self-imposed rationing and hadn't had showers in three days. The futility of the search was wearing them down slowly but surely.

An argument broke out over breakfast when Newkirk refused to swap his meat and potato hash ration with LeBeau, who had gotten the meat and beans ration for the fourth time in a row. Carter stepped in and gave him his meat and vegetable stew to diffuse the situation, along with a lecture on how Colonel Hogan wouldn't want them to fight over such trivial things. The rest of breakfast was consumed in sullen silence in the grey, cold light of morning.

* * *

"Excuse me, Hauptsturmführer?"

Hogan looked up from where he had just sat down to drink his coffee in the Mess hall of the Voß bunker. He'd had no more than a couple of sips before being interrupted by the young blonde woman standing beside his table.

"Can I help you, miss?" he said, surprised at the intrusion. There were numerous women in the bunker, from a few remaining secretaries who had refused to leave earlier to cooks to laundry workers to nurses to wives of the General Staff. He couldn't tell from the clothes she wore what category she fit into.

"Yes, I hope so. Are you on duty?" she asked.

"Not quite. I'm just catching breakfast before my next shift in half an hour or so…" began Hogan.

"_W__ü__nderbar_, then you can help me. Come with me, _bitte_." She turned and started to walk swiftly away, simply assuming Hogan would follow her. Annoyed but curious, he hastily got up from his table and chased after her.

"Ah, where are we going?" Hogan asked as he caught up. She led the way through the grey halls of the bunker, winding their way towards the Führerbunker.

"Outside. Adolf refuses to let me go out without an escort. My regular man isn't available right now so you'll have to do."

Hogan's eyes widened and he faltered mid-step, taken aback at her statement. Catching up again, he said, "I'll have to do? You sure know how to make a man feel wanted."

She stopped as they reached the red carpeted hall outside the conference room. "Go get a sidearm, then return here and wait for me. I'll be back in a minute." She turned to go through the door leading to the private quarters of the General Staff.

"Now just hold on a minute, lady," started Hogan, amazed at the audacity of this brazen young woman. She was pushing all his buttons and Hogan was beginning to lose his cool.

"Off you go! I won't be long," she said, making little 'shooing' gestures before disappearing behind a solid wooden door. Hogan ground his teeth in frustration, balling his fists. He turned on his heel and marched to the armory, signing out a Luger and belt holster, figuring the only way to get to the bottom of this was to do what she said. He returned quickly to find the hall still empty.

Hogan paced a bit as he waited, hoping this wasn't some sort of elaborate joke. He was just about to call it quits and go back to his coffee when the door opened again, revealing the woman now wearing a coat and silk scarf tied over her hair along with two black Scottish terriers on leashes. She nodded to Hogan and led the way to the emergency exit which came out in the Reich Chancellery garden. She paused at the bottom of the spiral staircase, indicating Hogan should go first. Sighing, he climbed the stairs. Reaching the outside door, he drew his gun before carefully opening it. Seeing nothing moving in the garden, he stepped out, gave the 'All clear' and allowed the woman to exit the bunker.

Hogan holstered his weapon and looked up at the sky, seeing the sun for the first time in a week. He breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of air which, while still laced with smoke to a certain degree, was at least not recirculated and stale.

He looked over at the woman, only to find her watching him with a soft smile on her face. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a crumpled package of cigarettes and a lighter. She pulled one out and lit it, exhaling a long stream of smoke. She stuck out her hand.

"Eva Braun," she said, then indicated the dogs who had finished doing their business and were now sniffing around and rolling in the limited grass. "Negus and Stasi."

"Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss," replied Hogan, taking her hand in a firm grip.

"I know. Adolf has spoken of you a few times. He seems to like you." She smiled.

"_W__ü__nderbar_," Hogan muttered under his breath. He spoke a bit louder. "Are we even supposed to be out here?" asked he suspiciously.

"_Nein_, but the dogs do need to go outside. My regular escort refused to bring us so I found you to do it." She paused, tilting her head. "I should apologize for my earlier behaviour but I won't. I tend to be a tad more forthright than what is generally considered to be 'proper'. You'll get used to me," she said, taking another drag on her cigarette.

"So I can see," replied Hogan, indicating the fag in her hand. "I didn't think _he_ approved of such things."

"Oh, he doesn't," she said with a smile. "That's why I do it out here where Adolf can't see me. He doesn't approve of my make-up or drinking either but as long as it makes me happy, he tolerates it."

"Is that why he keeps you hidden away? I've never seen you at any of the General Staff meetings where the other wives were present," asked Hogan.

Eva shrugged. "It's probably one of the reasons. In the past, he figured he'd get more of the female support if they thought he was single." She giggled behind her hand. "Then there's the age difference between us. I'm only 33 you know."

Hogan raised his eyebrows at the forthright admission. "If I may ask, what do you do in the bunker all day? It can't be very exciting for you. You must do more than just walk the dogs."

"Oh, I read a lot. I truly love a good romance novel. Sometimes I listen to the radio but it's not working now. I use to love watching films but you can't do it underground. I like to exercise as well. Always was into athletics at school. And then there's my photography. It keeps me busy." She ground out the butt of her cigarette with the toe of her shoe. "What about you? Any hobbies?"

"Ah, well," Hogan rubbed the back of his neck, "I have quite an interest in the radio as well," he hedged. "I spend a lot of time on duty so I don't get much of a chance to do anything else."

"What a shame. The cost of being a soldier in war, I guess," she sympathized. "Do you want me to talk to…?"

"No, no!" Hogan quickly interrupted. "Thanks all the same. A soldier never complains about his duty and we have it much lighter here than on the front lines."

Conversation stumbled to a halt. Eva walked the dogs around the small garden with Hogan trailing behind. She ran with them a bit and then played fetch, throwing a stick for the little dogs to bring back. Hogan alternated between watching them and taking in the damage showing on the Reich Chancellery. The bombings had brought down part of the old building and damaged some of the new. It was a wonder any of it was still standing. He imagined the damage was considerable out on the street.

Finally, Eva decided it was time to go back inside. Hogan followed her in, ensuring the exit was properly closed and locked. She waited for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank you for the escort. It was nice to talk to a new person for a change," she said, smiling.

"You're welcome. Do you need to walk the other dog now?" he asked.

"What other dog?" she asked, a puzzled frown puckering her brow.

"I could have sworn I saw the Führer with a Sheppard in the middle of the night, about a week ago."

"Oh, you must mean Blondi. Yes, he was Adolf's. I wouldn't allow such a large beast around my Negus and Stasi. But it doesn't matter now. Blondi is dead." Eva didn't sound remorseful in the least.

"Dead? It must have been sudden. Was he old or sick?" asked Hogan, concerned.

"No, not very old and in perfect health. Adolf just needed someone to test the cyanide capsules on to prove they work. He didn't trust the Doktor who gave them to him." Eva didn't even bat an eye at the revelation. "Perhaps I'll see you around again, Hauptsturmführer. Good day, and thanks again."

Eva turned and led the dogs back to her private quarters, leaving Hogan aghast at the depths to which Hitler would go.

* * *

Wolfgang Hochstetter was extremely happy at this moment that he had opted to wear the trench coat/fedora uniform preferred by the upper ranks of the Gestapo upon his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, rather than the standard black tunic he'd favored as a Major. It was currently allowing him a fair bit more obscurity as he picked his way through the battered streets of Berlin.

Once ousted from the hospital, he had very limited options on what to do. He had no vehicle, having been taken to the Krankenhaus by ambulance after the disastrous confrontation with Hogan in the alley behind the _Bier_ _Stube_, so he was forced to walk. His first order of business was to return to his apartment. He was not pleased with what he found.

The three hour walk could probably have been done in two, if Hochstetter hadn't been lying around in bed for the last week. To say he was out of shape was a bit of an understatement, especially after riding a desk for the last month at Gestapo Headquarters. The heavy cast on his arm also added to his physical labor as did the numerous piles of rubble he had to scale or skirt around.

Once 'home', he had another surprise waiting for him. The front half of his apartment was missing. _Not truly missing_, he supposed as he toed one of the tiny pieces piled on the sidewalk and out into the street. He stood there flabbergasted for a moment as he looked at his sofa sitting wide open to the elements on the second storey, the lamp beside it hanging by the cord into the abyss, the hardwood floor in front of it jagged and then completely gone.

Braving the collapse of the building to see what he could salvage, Hochstetter had climbed the back stairs which were completely intact. He entered his apartment, amused at the irony of having to unlock the door to get in. It was either laugh or cry. He eased himself around the outside, staying well away from the gaping hole which was formerly the front of the building, hugging the walls lest the unsupported center of the floor give way.

One fortunate thing was his bedroom had been in the rear of the building, meaning it was still undamaged. It was nearing nightfall and with no where else to go, Hochstetter decided the rear of the structure was stable enough to spend one last night in his own bed. He figured he had nothing to lose if the building caved in while he slept.

In the morning, he had gathered some spare clothes, all of which were uniform issue dress shirts and trousers as he wore nothing else even off duty, into a pack which could be easily carried. He added a few irreplaceable personal mementos which still survived, like photos of his deceased parents but left the frames due to breakage and weight. He briefly wondered what would happen to the things he left behind, then shook off the train of thought as being too morose. He had to keep moving, keep his mind on getting out of Berlin. There would be time to mourn all that was lost at some point in the future.

So now here he was, heading west and avoiding all interactions with any people – German, Russian, or civilian. Food was becoming an issue. His kitchen had been in the front of the apartment and lost to the destruction. He had managed to dig out a few canned items overlooked by scavengers in the rubble and horded them in his pack but he had no ongoing food supply. Water too was going to be an issue once he left the city, provided he got that far. Even now he wasn't sure how contaminated the supply which ran out of the taps was but took a chance with it anyway. It wasn't as if he could run down to the corner store and buy a bottle of the stuff. Who would sell water in a bottle anyway? Hochstetter's mind was coping by going off on tangents and inventing ridiculous ideas like that.

Hochstetter had no real plan for where he was going. His primary goal was to get out of Berlin and away from the fighting. Secondary in the back of his mind was just disappearing into the woodwork of post-war Germany and try to rebuild himself while his country was doing the same. He had no money, no family, and no real skills outside of the Gestapo specialties. He didn't think there would be much call for his unique brand of interrogation techniques once the war was over and he was not the physical laborer type. He would have to wait and see what life had left to throw at him.

* * *

The team piled into the carefully concealed car and Newkirk started the engine. He was about to pull out onto the street when he stopped and shut off the car.

"What are you doing, _mon ami_?" asked LeBeau.

"I was just lookin' at the gauges. We 'ave a little below 'alf a tank o' petrol left," said Newkirk with concern. "What are we goin' ta do when we run out? It's not like there are any fill stations anywhere around 'ere, right?"

"Petrol?" asked Carter, confused by the British term.

"He means gasoline," said LeBeau.

"Ah," said Carter in understanding. Everyone in the vehicle was silent for a few moments as they considered their situation. "So what you're saying Peter, is if we keep driving everywhere while looking for the Colonel, we're going to run out of gas before we can get out of Berlin, right?"

"Aye, that about sums it up mate." Newkirk leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He crossed his arms and sighed. Such a simple thing really, to have fuel for the car, but without it, the search would take even longer on foot.

"I don't think we have much choice. Either we use up the fuel looking for _mon_ _Colonel_ or we search on foot and hope the car is still here when it comes time to escape Berlin," said LeBeau. "Not much of a choice, is it?"

"I guess if we're heading into the center of Berlin, we'd be better on foot anyway," said Carter. "The shelling has probably caused a lot of damage so the roads may not be passable and there's the risk of a shell landing on the car. We'd be a lot more maneuverable on foot, ducking into buildings and stuff."

"We'll 'ave ta leave most of our supplies be'ind," pointed out Newkirk.

"We can pack some things in our satchels – extra ammo, rations," said LeBeau.

"Depending on how far it is, maybe we can go in and out of the inner city every day," said Carter. "Come back here as a home base so we're not in the middle of the heavy shelling all night. Then we wouldn't have to carry as much."

"We'd have to carry enough in case we got stranded," replied LeBeau seriously.

"Guess that's 'ow it is then," said Newkirk. "Let's get a move on. We need to figure out what we're takin' and cover up the car so no one pinches 'er while we're gone."

* * *

It was there in plain black and white on the paper before him. If help didn't reach the Germans in the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours, Berlin was lost. Totally and irrevocably. The realization was enough to make Hogan want to do cartwheels up and down the hallways of the Führerbunker. He settled instead with leaning back in his chair, folding his arms, and blowing out a huff of air, waiting and watching what Hitler would do next.

_Two days tops and it will all be over_, thought Hogan. _And where will that leave me? If the Soviets find a way to break into the bunker…_ He left the thought unfinished. No use borrowing trouble. He still didn't know how he was going to get himself out of Berlin; he'd have to wait and see how the situation presented itself and wing it. Bormann bursting into the conference room broke Hogan out of his thoughts.

"News report from Allied radio, Mein Führer!" Bormann waved a piece of paper in the air. "Himmler has contacted the United States and Britain and guaranteed them Germany's unconditional surrender!"

Hope surged in Hogan's chest as he sat forward in his chair. Would he be witness to Hitler's capitulation? Would the war be over in hours, not days?

"Fegelein! He must be behind this! I suspected he was absconding, with the erratic phone calls today. He has been missing most of the week," Hitler said, thumping the table with the frustration of yet another betrayal in his ranks.

Hogan was not totally clear on everything Hitler was alluding to. He had been performing other duties earlier in the week and missed some of the activities to which the Führer was referring. Hogan knew SS General Fegelein was one of the General Staff still in the bunker, and reported directly to Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler.

"Strauss!" barked Hitler, causing Hogan to jump. "Take a couple of guards and search Fegelein's quarters!"

"Yes sir!" said Hogan standing swiftly and giving the Heil salute before leaving the conference room. He grabbed a guard from outside the door and went through to the personal quarters' area of the Führerbunker. The door to Fegelein's room was labeled and Hogan and the guard wasted no time in searching it. Hogan grabbed their findings and returned to the conference room.

"Report!" snapped Hitler as soon as Hogan entered the room.

"Papers, Mein Führer, mentioning Himmler's dealings with a Swedish diplomat named Count Folke Bernadotte," replied Hogan, laying the items on the table. "Also, two money belts containing gold sovereigns and other Allied currency."

"You!" shouted Hitler pointing at another man off to the side of the room. "Where is he? When was the last time you saw him?"

"I-I-I d-don't kn-know, Mein Führer," stuttered the man, obviously dismayed at the turn of events. Hogan struggled to place him. He was fairly sure he was Fegelein's adjutant, although his name escaped him.

"You should know where he is twenty-four hours a day!" screamed Hitler. "Where is he?"

"The last time I saw him, he was heading to his Kurfürstendamm apartment to change into civilian clothes," stated the adjutant.

"Bormann! Send men. Find Fegelein! I want him here! Now!" ordered Hitler. Bormann rushed to carry out the command.

In the wake of the flurry of activity surrounding the discovery of Himmler's treachery, silence descended upon the small conference room. The ticking of the clock seemed overly loud as it announced each second passing – the last seconds of the Third Reich. Tension was heavy in the air until more reports started filtering in again.

It was two hours later when General Weidling reported that the Russians were hammering Wenck's relief army into the ground. Reports from around the city showed the situation was desperate. Food and medical stores were exhausted both in the bunker and around the city at various hospitals and field triage centers. Daring to garner the wrath of the Führer, Weidling outlined his plan for a mass breakout. At the conclusion, Hitler replied, "I will not myself leave the Chancellery. We are holding on to the very end."

Fegelein was brought in an hour later, dressed in his civilian clothes. Surrounded by guards, he was left in the hall as Bormann and Hitler discussed his fate.

"I want him assigned to SS General Wilhelm Mohnke, to help fight for central Berlin," declared Hitler.

"If I may point out, sir," said Bormann, "he'll just run away again. It would hardly be prudent to have a guard standing over him to force him to fight."

"I believe you are right in your assessment, Martin," said Hitler after some deliberation. "Bring him in here."

The guards shuffled Fegelein into the room.

"Hermann Fegelein, for treason against the Third Reich, you are hereby stripped of your rank as General and ordered to be executed immediately. Strauss! Carry out the order. Dismissed!" commanded the Führer.

The guards began moving Fegelein out of the conference room, his face slack and jaw bobbing up and down in a fair approximation of a goldfish. Hogan was doing a decent fish impersonation himself, having just been put in charge of Fegelein's execution. At a glare from Bormann, Hogan clamped his jaw shut and quickly rose to follow the guards out.

Hogan considered his charge. The thought of letting Fegelein go free barely even entered his mind before it was summarily discarded. While he might have betrayed Hitler in the end, the number of hideous things Fegelein had ordered or been involved in throughout the war was not forgivable. This would be just another casualty of war, of Hogan's sabotage unit, and while not a nameless one like some soldier at an ammunition dump, one he could justify in the end. It would be no different if Fegelein had made it to a war crimes tribunal.

Content with his decision, Hogan pulled in a few more guards along the way and ordered them to retrieve a set of rifles from the armory. Hogan led the way to the Chancellery garden, knowing it would be the safest place to carry out the execution as it was protected by four walls.

Fegelein was stood against the far wall, while the five members of the firing squad lined up in front of him. Hogan stood to the side.

"Achtung!" Hogan barked at his squad. He stole a glance at Fegelein and noticed he too had snapped to attention. He tried not to look at the condemned man.

"Ready!" The clacking of the rifles as the safeties were removed caused Hogan to flinch. The last time he had heard the same noise, he had been in Fegelein's position.

"Aim!" The image of Hochstetter's gloating face floated into Hogan's field of vision. The looks on the faces of the men as he stood against Barracke 2, as they realized he was willing to die to protect them. The nod of respect from Klink of all people as he acknowledged Hogan's friendship before the end. The tears on Schultz's cheeks which he would deny falling until his dying day as he couldn't bear to watch. Everything came crashing over Hogan in a sudden wave which was almost strong enough to bowl him over with its intensity.

The first guard in the squad line glanced over at Strauss. The Hauptsturmführer did not look well. Sweat bathed his face, which had lost all its colour and taken on a faint greenish hue. The guard wondered what was wrong with the officer and what was taking him so long to give the final command. It was not easy holding the rifles in position for an extended period of time and soon the men would start to waiver. If their aim was off, death would not be instant like it should be. It appeared that the Hauptsturmführer was not going to be able to follow through with the execution. _Was the Hauptsturmf__ü__hrer_ _too weak to complete the order?_

Hogan was finding it hard to breathe, iron bands wrapping invisibly around his chest constricting its ability to draw in sufficient air. He thought the tumultuous emotions from his mock execution were long behind him. He was not expecting to react this way, although the suddenness of the situation certainly notched up the reaction a few degrees. Hogan could see the questioning glances of the guard and struggled to pull himself out of the past to get through the next minute. Even Fegelein was twitching against the wall, wondering when the final command would be issued to end his life.

The execution was just and Hogan felt no guilt in carrying it out. It was only his own personal experience with the wrong end of a firing squad which was affecting his ability to carry out his assigned duty. Hogan knew the guard would perceive him as being weak, but an underling didn't need an explanation and Hogan wouldn't be able to explain the true reason behind his reaction anyways. Finally managing to catch a deep enough breath, Hogan squared his shoulders and forced the word from his lips.

"Fire!" The rapport of the rifles etched itself on Hogan's soul, the powerful boom thudding in his chest and further stealing his breath away. Hogan staggered a step, remembering the impact from the bullets and reliving it all over again. The sound of Fegelein's body hitting the ground almost caused Hogan to throw up. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to regain his equilibrium.

Hogan knew he couldn't remain feeble-looking in the eyes of the guards. In the small confines of the bunker, word would spread like wild fire and he would loose any respect the lower ranks had for him. Regaining control swiftly now that the deed had been done, Hogan remembered to order the squad to stand at ease. He drew his service issue Luger which he still had from the afternoon jaunt in the same garden with Eva, and went over to Fegelein's body. The execution looked clean; there was a nice cluster of bullet holes in the man's chest but to be certain, and to maintain face in the guards' eyes, Hogan fired the kill shot into Fegelein's temple without a second's hesitation.

Turning back to the squad, Hogan could see a notch of admiration in the first guard's eyes. Hogan figured the man would chalk up Hogan's initial hesitation as a flare for the dramatic, which was okay by him. Hogan ordered the men to bury the body in the garden and then to secure the grounds before returning to their posts. Hogan marched quickly inside to escape any questioning looks.

Just inside the door, Hogan sagged against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and panting as he rode out wave after wave of flashbacks and emotional turmoil. Gradually he was able to fully pull himself together in private before returning to the conference room.

There was no doubt in Hogan's mind there would be nightmares in his not-so-distant future. _God I want to go home._

* * *

"My feet are killing me," moaned Carter as he collapsed in their hideout.

"Yours and mine both," agreed Newkirk, gingerly sitting in an abandoned chair and propping his feet on a nearby table.

"Count me in _aussi_," said LeBeau, the little Frenchman weary beyond words.

Their first day of searching on foot had not gone well. Having not ventured into the heart of the city before noon when their preparations were in place, their time was limited before sundown when the shelling increased.

They managed to search several blocks but progress was extremely slow. They encountered a few German patrols who were not helpful in any way. Some buildings were still occupied and had to be thoroughly investigated as they housed various different departments with no one having a master list of everyone who worked there. A sense of chaos seemed to permeate the air wherever they went.

Silence surrounded the group of friends as they individually took stock of the day.

"I'm beginnin' to believe 'e's not 'ere," said Newkirk quietly out of the blue.

"You giving up already?" asked LeBeau. "You Brits always were a pessimistic lot."

"Well, it's not like we've 'ad a bit o' luck findin' the gov'na at all, 'ave we?" replied Newkirk defensively. "It's as if 'e just disappeared off the face o' the Earth, ain't it? Not a single soul we've come across 'as even 'eard of 'im before. 'e's either no' 'ere any more or buried so deep we could walk over 'im an' not know 'e's there!"

Carter sighed wanting to cut off the conversation before the two men got into a verbal reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo. "What's your gut telling ya, Louie? You're the one who started us on this 'Bear' hunt in the first place."

"Bear hunt?" LeBeau snorted. "Is that what you're calling this? So far it's more like a wild goose chase." He chuckled. "Now I understand what Schultz was going on about before we left camp. Kept hearing him mutter about there being no bears in Germany."

"Carter! You weren't supposed to tell anybody!" chastised Newkirk with mock anger.

"Well, it's not like I told him _where_ we were going!" defended Carter with a small pout. "I just said we were going on a bear hunt. Which we are – we're looking for Papa Bear! I couldn't tell him we were looking for Colonel Hogan and he looked so sad we were leaving so suddenly…"

"Aye, that he did, mate," said Newkirk recollecting the look of abandonment on the German Sergeant's face. "'ere's 'opin' we get to go back for a proper good-bye."

"_Oui_, we owe a lot to him for looking the other way over the years. He deserves to know what it was all about," agreed LeBeau.

"So are we going back or do we keep looking?" asked Carter.

"We keep looking," said Newkirk without a moment's hesitation.

"Definitely," said LeBeau with renewed determination.

"Then let's get some sleep. It'll be another hard day tomorrow," said Carter.

Carter lay in his makeshift bed and listened to the sounds of his mates drifting off to sleep. He was pleased by the way the evening's conversation had turned out. His 'bear hunt' comment had had the effect he wanted – Newkirk and LeBeau were both behind the search again and everyone had managed a little laugh, even if it was at his 'expense'. But then again, he wouldn't have had it any other way. After all, he'd learned verbal manipulation from the golden tongue of the master himself. _And they were going to get him back_, Carter promised himself. He smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

A/N: A fag is a British WW1 term for a cigarette. If you've ever heard the lyrics to "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag, and Smile, Smile, Smile", one of the lines in the chorus is "While you've a Lucifer to light your fag…" meaning "as long as you have a match to light your cigarette…". Lucifer was a match brand name.

Personal information on Eva Braun is from Wikipedia. As an interesting side note, General Hermann Fegelein was married to Eva Braun's sister Gretl.

The Battle of Waterloo was fought in Waterloo, Belgium on June 18, 1815, between the French Empire forces of Napoleon Bonaparte and the Seventh Coalition forces, which included the British under the Duke of Wellington. Napoleon lost which ended his rule as French Emperor.


	34. Chapter 34: April 29

April 29, 1945

It was 02:00 and Hogan was longing for his bed but he could tell it would not be anywhere in his immediate future. Hitler had decided now was the time to dictate his last will and testament. He had ordered all his staff to leave while Hogan was told to stay and take notes.

It was a short will, with Hitler bequeathing all his effects to the Party; or, if it no longer existed, to the state. He paced a little before including one final thought. With a touch of realism he added that should the state also fail to continue, it would be pointless to list any further dispositions as they would be redundant. It was then that Hitler moved on to his political testament.

Hitler paused for a while as he gathered his thoughts. Standing at his usual mid-table place, he turned and leaned on the now bare conference table with both hands, staring at the pad of paper in Hogan's hands. Without warning, Hitler suddenly barked out: "My Political Testament" and began dictating it without notes from start to finish.

The testament was twofold in its contents; one part justification on his views of the Jews, the rest praise for his brave troops' accomplishments. Hitler appointed his successor in Großadmiral Dönitz as President of the Reich. Chancellor of the Reich fell to Dr. Goebbels and Bormann became Party Minister. A few others were specified, covering all aspects of the government from agriculture to the military Commanders in Chief. Hitler's last edict was to expel both Göring and Himmler from the National Socialist Party. Hogan's gut ached from listening to the first part, and his hand cramped by the time Hitler was through with the second.

Hitler indicated Hogan should follow him into his private quarters off the meeting room so Hogan passed off his notes to one of the Führer's remaining secretaries to be typed up in triplicate so they could be notarized. In the lounge area, Hitler's closest friends and their wives waited for him, along with a beaming Eva Braun who was wearing a navy dress and holding a few sprigs of greenery from the Chancellery garden. A few more were woven into her hair.

Hitler addressed the gathering. "During my years of struggle I believed I ought not to engage in marriage; but now my mortal span is at its end I have resolved to take as my wife the woman who came to this city when it was already virtually under siege, after long years of true friendship, to link her fate with my own. It is her wish to go with me to her death, as my wife. This will make up for all I could not give her because of my work on behalf of my people."

It was nearing 04:00 by the time the brief marriage ceremony and meager celebratory meal were over. The secretary had completed the testaments and they were witnessed by Goebbels and Bormann. Three messengers were selected to smuggle the documents out to Dönitz with orders to publicize them on Hitler's orders or confirmation of his death. Afterwards, everyone sat around the conference room waiting news from General Wenck.

There was not much available means of communication to the outside world. Telegrams had dropped off to nothing and the radio hadn't worked in days. Finally it was decided to try calling random telephone numbers to try to gauge the progress of the war outside the bunker. Armed with a map of Berlin and the phone book, Hogan co-ordinated a group of enlisted men who placed calls to different parts of the city and reported back their findings. More often than not, Russian voices answered the phones, leading Hogan to block out the corresponding area as belonging to the enemy. The portion of Berlin still in German hands was woefully small and decreasing rapidly.

Around lunch time two messages made their way to the bunker. One, from Jodl, indicated Wenck was at a standstill. The second, by diplomatic cable, reported the execution the day before of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, his mistress Clara Petacci, and a dozen of his closest leaders. The report detailed the horrible scene in a square in Milan where the bullet ridden corpses were hung up by their feet.

The day dragged on and Hogan grabbed snippets of sleep here and there, nodding off in his chair like everyone else when his eyes became too heavy to remain open. No one really felt the urge to sleep in their beds lest they missed something, and yet the wait was interminable. There was some kind of bond forming between those who sat and passed the time together, killing time until Fate showed what it had in store for those huddled under Berlin.

Hogan was biding his time, keeping his eye on Hitler for when he decided to take the final step to oblivion. Hitler made no bones about his planned destiny; he had spoken numerous times about his intent to commit suicide when no hope remained of Berlin's recovery. He wrote some final letters to some of his friends and closest workers who were not in the bunker, such as his chauffer, to help pass the time.

By 20:00 the Russians were reportedly headed along Wilhelmstraße near Luftwaffe headquarters. Hitler was still trying to get information about Wenck's status, becoming desperate at his silence. Wenck was the last remaining hope for those in the bunker but it was becoming increasingly clear the battle was not being waged to clear a way for Hitler to escape from Berlin. Bormann made sure to specify the Führer was still alive in all his communications in an effort to encourage the troops to do more than just hold the line.

Late in the evening, General Weidling made a dire announcement: there was heavy fighting at the nearby Potsdam Station and there were no bazookas left. Hogan noted the miniscule slump in the Führer's shoulders at the news. A long silence followed Weidling's words. Hitler wearily lifted himself from his chair and turned to leave.

"What should my men do when their ammunition runs out?" asked Weidling at his Führer's retreating form.

Hitler replied, "Your men will have to break out in small groups." There was little else to be said.

It was nearing midnight when the long awaited telegram arrived with an update on Wenck's status. As it was read, any final hope remaining for Berlin held by those gathered around the war table was crushed. Wenck's army was delayed south of Schwielow Lake, leaving the Twelfth Army unable to continue its attack to Berlin. In addition, the majority of the Ninth Army was encircled by the Russians. There were no miracles to be had. Defeat was inevitable; it was only a matter of when.

Surrender was not an option; the word simply was not in Hitler's vocabulary.

* * *

"Unter den Linden," read Carter the sign nailed to the corner building. "Sounds like a pretty important street."

"Perhaps," agreed LeBeau. "It looks like a promenade, so wide and lined with trees and fancy lamp posts. What is that awful smell?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Smells like rottin' meat. Where you suppose it's comin' from?" asked Newkirk.

The others gave 'I don't know' type gestures and the trio continued down the paved avenue. There was no traffic and not a soul around. They had traveled far today and earlier came to the conclusion they would not be able to return to the location of their stashed car every evening. There was just too much of the city left uncovered beyond the limited radius of a half day's travel out from the car's location as a central hub. If they were going to take a chance with the vehicle being safe all day, they would chance it being just as safe overnight.

It was now turning towards evening, the day having been hinting at spring with the warmth returning to the sunshine at long last. The trees along the street were showing the first signs of budding, nature renewing itself despite mankind's destruction all around. It was the type of day Carter would have preferred sitting on the bench outside the barracks with his tanning pans, soaking up the sunshine and imagining he was back home enjoying the heat of summer in the mid-west.

As they made their way further west along the road, the odor began to increase in intensity. As the buildings dropped behind to give way to a park-like greenbelt, Carter stopped in his tracks and gasped at the ghastly vista before his eyes.

It was like a horror movie come to life, Hallowe'en gone insane, but nothing Carter had seen in the theatres back home could even come close to the atrocities before him. With the trees bare, they looked skeletal in the fading light, but it was what was hanging from the trees which was causing the stench. Decaying bodies – men, women, children! – were swinging in the early evening breeze, decorating the park trees like grisly Christmas ornaments. Carter loved watching horror films back home; their scary scenes and macabre characters had him sitting on the edge of his seat, his stomach clenched in excitement and fear as he munched happily on popcorn. But the gruesome scene before him had a distinctly opposite affect on his stomach as he found himself bent over and emptying its limited contents on the sidewalk beside him. LeBeau wasn't faring much better, and Newkirk had broken out into a sweat and was holding on by sheer willpower alone. No wonder the area was deserted.

"They're…they're…they're civilians!" Newkirk finally managed to get out between swallows to keep his stomach from rebelling. "Bloody 'ell! There must be bloomin' 'undreds of 'em," he added softly. He turned away from the spectacle and focused on his other team members. "Are you okay, mates?" he asked with concern, rubbing LeBeau's back and looking over at Carter.

"I will be, just give me a sec," said Carter with his eyes screwed tightly shut. He was panting slightly and breathing through his mouth, still hunched over and had his arms wrapped around his middle. _His face is a little pasty as well_, thought Newkirk, keeping his eye on him.

"_Oui, mon ami,_ I have never seen anything like this before, not even when _les Boches_ took over Paris," ground out LeBeau, who was also still bent over at the waist, his hands braced against his knees. He straightened up and took a deep breath, settling himself and getting a grip on the shock they had encountered. "You don't think _le_ _Colonel_ would be…" LeBeau couldn't finish the thought but he waved a hand weakly in the direction of the trees.

"No! No, no, no, no! They're all civilians as far as I can see," said Newkirk adamantly. "I din't know why they're all hanged – too many ta be a conspiracy or somethin' – but there's not a soldier amongst 'em, so no – he's not there. He can't be there. My gut says so."

"Well, your gut's doing better than mine at the moment," said Carter with a rueful smile, "so I'm willing to trust it." He had managed to stand upright by now, although he was continuing to breathe through his mouth to avoid the worst of the stench. "It's getting dark. We need to find shelter for the night," he continued, trying to change the subject and move away from the area.

"Right you are, then. There's a large buildin' just over there which looks undamaged," said Newkirk pointing to a multi-storied structure just past the street beside the park.

"Let's go check it out," said Carter, keeping his eyes averted from the nightmare behind him.

The trio hurried down the avenue, intent on their target in the fading daylight. The sunset was spectacular in its beauty, turning the Berlin sky wondrous shades of red, orange, and purples which mixed and combined as only nature could.

"Hotel Adlon," read Newkirk from the sign over the large wooden doors which led to the lobby. "Bet room service is a lit'le lackin' right now."

"Here's hoping they still have electricity and running water," said LeBeau. "I wouldn't mind a shower, even if it's stone cold!"

The men opened the door and crossed the impressive lobby. They called loudly to see if anyone was still about, but a light coating of dust and nothing but echoes indicated they were alone. LeBeau pointed out the café and they put it on their list of things to check out, hoping to find an alternate food source than their C rations, which were pretty much exhausted.

Newkirk went behind the desk to see if anything interesting had been left behind and to find room keys. He quickly rifled through the papers, knocking a ledger on the floor. The bang as it hit caused Carter and LeBeau to jump and yell at Newkirk for scaring ten years off their lives.

"Sorry about that, mates," he said, picking up the offending book. He flipped through it while he was holding it and realized it was the room booking ledger. Suddenly he gasped as a name leapt off the page at him.

"He was here!" cried Newkirk.

"Who?" asked Carter, looking around and only partially paying attention.

"The gov'na! Right there, bold as brass! Erlich Strauss, Room 214!" Newkirk felt like shouting from the rooftop and swinging from the chandeliers. Finally, they had found some indication of Colonel Hogan in Berlin.

"He was here?" asked LeBeau excitedly, him and Carter gathering around Newkirk as he shared his huge discovery.

"Checked in on April 2nd, two months rent paid upfront…oh no…" said Newkirk, voice falling off as he continued reading.

"What? What is it? What does it say?" LeBeau and Carter badgered Newkirk with questions, urging the Corporal to divulge what he found.

"He checked out on April 20th," replied Newkirk with finality. "Nine days ago! Nine days!" shouted Newkirk, hurling the volume against the wall and watching it ricochet to bounce off the floor once more. The Cockney man had always been quick to anger. "'e could be bloody anywhere by now!"

"Calm down, Pierre," soothed LeBeau. "We are all just as disappointed as you are." He paused, thinking. "Eight days ago was when I had the dream that started us on this journey."

"Wonder if what happened outside made the Colonel check out and disappear?" asked Carter, but he didn't really expect an answer.

In the end, they decided to go up and have a look at Strauss' room, just to feel closer to their missing leader. There was something about being in the same place Colonel Hogan had been only a week or so ago which acted like a balm to their fraying emotions.

The room had not been straightened up after Hogan's departure, so obviously the hotel had been abandoned suddenly shortly after he left. The bed was still unmade, covers haphazardly pulled up to give the appearance of neatness but it was obvious the maids had not been in to change the sheets. The drawers of the highboy were askew as if shut in a hurry and not evenly seated in the chest.

"'ello, 'ello, 'ello-ee, what 'ave we 'ere?" said Newkirk from the bedside table. "Gentlemen, it appears our gov'na 'as been 'avin' 'imself a wee bit o' company."

"What do you mean, Peter?" asked Carter from across the room. "Did you find something?"

"Well unless 'e's grown 'is 'air out, judgin' by these 'air pins by the bed, the gov'na 'ad 'imself some companionship of the female persuasion before 'e disappeared."

Grins broke out on all three faces, all of them being familiar with their leader's penchant for attracting women wherever he went.

LeBeau discovered some food left in the kitchenette which would supplement their dinner at least; the fruit was a decaying, rotten mess but the potatoes and carrots were still usable. The bread had molded long ago but the box of crackers was fine.

"I'm going downstairs to check out the restaurant," said LeBeau, gathering his finds. "I am hoping there will be something in the kitchen which is salvageable for dinner tonight and save the rations. Since we seem to have electricity, I'll be able to use the stove down there. Join me in half an hour or so, okay?"

Carter and Newkirk agreed, feeling it was safe to split up. The place was empty and they hadn't seen another person – _alive person_ – since early in the afternoon. The little Frenchman hurried off down to the kitchen, hoping to be able to cook once more. He had been missing making meals, opening the ration cans just didn't hold the same appeal as creating a dinner from scratch. Cooking was a passion for LeBeau, an outlet for all his pent up emotions and he was praying there would be sufficient foodstuffs remaining in the café's kitchen to allow him to burn off some of the mounting frustrations he'd experienced on this trip.

Meanwhile upstairs, Carter and Newkirk found themselves with little to do until it was time to find out what LeBeau had been up to. They decided to take quick showers while the opportunity presented itself – Carter in Hogan's room and Newkirk in the suite next door. With the last ten minutes before LeBeau's deadline, the pair explored the other rooms on the floor, hoping to find more usable food stashed by other former guests. They found a few items, nothing spectacular, but brought them along to dinner regardless.

The aroma wafting out of the restaurant kitchen was amazing; enough to bowl over the two hungry Allies who were too sick and tired of the repetitive rations for their stomachs to think straight. Salivating at the thought of a real gourmet LeBeau-made meal, they dashed the few remaining feet to the kitchen to find a very happy chef puttering around, banging pots and stirring pans with gusto. Carter helped LeBeau put the finishing touches on dinner while Newkirk set one of the tables near the kitchen door.

The meal was consumed by candlelight – not for its romantic qualities, but to keep the visible light level down lest it attract attention from outside. Using bona fide plates, utensils, napkins, tablecloth, chairs and a table even brought an illusion of pre-war normalcy to the feast. Camaraderie was high, with the men telling stories and sharing laughs like they hadn't in a long time. It was as if Colonel Hogan was watching over them, letting them know this was a safe place; it was good to let go and relax.

There was a brief low moment during the meal when the intense shelling resumed outside. Conversations were suspended while they listened to the pounding happening blocks away. It appeared their area would remain untouched and the banter slowly resumed but with a little less enthusiasm. It was a bit of a wake up call; they weren't out of the woods as yet. There was still a mission to complete; the team was still down one man.

LeBeau grabbed a shower sometime after dinner. Newkirk and Carter even washed the dishes, more out of a sense of prolonging the evening then as an obligation. They bedded down in rooms near Colonel Hogan's, no one wanting to sleep in the bed he had used, just like they preserved his quarters at Stalag 13 after he left.

It was the first decent night's sleep the team had managed to get in a week and their bodies, minds and souls were grateful for it.

* * *

A/N: Horror films were extremely popular by the 1930s, with Frankenstein and Dracula both being released in 1931. Produced by James Whale for Universal Studios, their success spawned The Mummy in 1932, The Invisible Man in 1933, Bride of Frankenstein in 1935, and Son of Frankenstein in 1939. I'm afraid Carter probably missed Ghost of Frankenstein as it was released in 1942 and there was a distinct lack of local video stores at the time.

I couldn't find a clear answer on the colour of Eva's wedding dress, much like the colour of Hogan's bomber jacket. Some reports say it was black. In many European countries, it was traditional for the bride to wear dark colours prior to 1840, when Queen Victoria chose to wear white when she married Albert of Saxe-Coburg, Germany. I happened to see a wedding when I was in Coburg and the bride wore navy. Blue was a colour associated with purity.

For Hitler's complete Political Testament, see www (dot) humanitas-international (dot) org/showcase/chronography/documents/htestmnt (dot) htm. It's worth the read but far too long to include in the story. One of the remaining secretaries, Traudl Junge, was the one who really took the dictation and then typed the final document in triplicate.

This is also the day Dachau was liberated by the US 7th Army.


	35. Chapter 35: April 30

_A/N: Minor violence warning for this one. Sensitive subject matter (suicide)._

April 30, 1945

The remnants of Hitler's General Staff and their wives joined him for breakfast around the conference room table. It had been bare for several days now, with no more need of battle plans as everyone waited for the inevitable to happen. It was as they sat around slowly chewing tasteless hard biscuits and sipping coffee which was more like hot water Hitler made his dramatic declaration: he and Eva had decided to die today at 15:00.

"One must face one's fate like a man," he said simply.

Stunned silence met the announcement and tears cascaded down some of the wives' cheeks. Biscuits were left half-eaten on their plates as appetites escaped the Staff members. There was a feeling of shock that it had finally come to this, despite Hitler's promises and preparations for the last week or more. Regardless of his voiced intent, the Staff had still harboured tiny hopes this day would not come. They had followed their Führer for years, watched and helped him raise Germany out of the depths of defeat after losing the last war to make Her a presence on the world stage once more. How had they come to lose another war? Where would Germany be after their Führer, Her saviour, was gone?

"It is for the best," said Hitler, as if reading their minds. "It will clear the way for Dönitz to save Germany."

Everyone was dismissed after the meal was over, except for Bormann. Hitler gave him specific instructions on what to do with their bodies – to burn them to ashes so they could never be put on display. The bunker was to remain intact as well, to prove to the Russians he stayed until the bitter end.

Lunch was a somber affair.

* * *

LeBeau made a wonderful breakfast in the kitchen of the Hotel Adlon's café. Actually, pretty much anything which wasn't C rations tasted heavenly, but the Frenchman had outdone himself after finding some eggs in the back of the kitchen's icebox.

After their stomachs were sated, the trio headed out, feeling rejuvenated from their mini-holiday. They headed south on Wilhelmstraße towards the headquarters' buildings. They had decided after a long discussion over breakfast that, even though this area seemed to have more intense fighting, it would be the area they would most likely find Colonel Hogan's alter ego Erlich Strauss. If Strauss was living this close to the military center, odds were good he would have been posted to one of the HQs.

Carter didn't like the idea of putting Newkirk and LeBeau in danger, but quietly admitted to himself they weren't getting any closer to finding the Colonel by avoiding such areas. The logic was sound; they would just have to be extra diligent.

There were a lot more German troops in the area today. The team avoided looking at the gruesomely decorated trees as they headed down Wilhelmstraße, trying to blend in with the other soldiers as they ran, skulked, and took cover. No one questioned their presence due to the mish-mash of units hastily thrown together for the common goal of defending Berlin.

A few of the buildings looked somewhat familiar from their time when they had been taken to Gestapo headquarters on Prinz-Albrecht Straße. It appeared the Luftwaffe building had come under heavy attack; the large concrete structure being hardly recognizable amongst the rubble. As SS, the team reasoned Strauss wouldn't have been posted there so were not concerned by its loss.

Shelling was constant in this part of the city and seemed to be getting worse. The trio kept away from open areas as they moved through the streets, keeping their eyes on the skies for incoming projectiles. They reached the Reich Chancellery but it looked completely abandoned. A debate broke out on whether to search it or not.

"We should at least go in and have a look while we're here," said LeBeau.

"It's empty. We ain't goin' ta find 'im in there, waitin' at a desk for us ta pop in an' say 'Nice ta see ya, where've you been?'," countered Newkirk with a scowl.

"We have to start looking somewhere. The way the Russians are hitting this area hard, it won't be standing much longer and we'll have lost any trace of the Colonel's whereabouts," said Carter.

"I don't like the idea of getting trapped in a building when it's being bombed any more than you do, Pierre," said LeBeau, honing in on the real reason Newkirk didn't want to go inside.

"Look, we'll go in, check around the lobby. They probably have some sort of security logs to track who's come in and out of the building. We'll go through them, quick as a fox and be out before you know it," replied Carter.

"It's quick as a _rabbit_, Carter," said Newkirk, rolling his eyes. "Alright, I'm in. Let's go, gents."

"Are you sure? I mean foxes are pretty quick," said Carter as the team climbed the steps to the imposing brown brick building, passing under the German spread-winged eagle etched in the stone over the entrance. "I have a 4th cousin, Red Fox Who Hunts on the Plain, and he's…"

"Blimey Carter, it's swift as a fox or quick as a rabbit, not the other way 'round. I've also 'eard sly as a fox but that's another matter entirely. Now will you 'urry up an' find out if the gov'na's been 'ere!" interrupted Newkirk in exasperation.

Carter swallowed his reply and jogged over to the central security desk in the lobby while Newkirk and LeBeau did a quick scan around, ensuring they were indeed alone.

"Oh man, there are a ton of books back here," came Carter's voice from under the desk. He started pulling them out and piling them on the counter.

LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged glances. Nodding to Newkirk, LeBeau came over to help Carter go through the stack as Newkirk kept an eye on the door. Carter was starting to sort the books, which were labeled according to service branch and date, and seemed to change over every couple of weeks or so.

Locating the ones labeled 'SS' for the month of April, Carter and LeBeau began flipping through the pages.

"Eureka!"

* * *

The bombs started falling heavier after lunch, coinciding with Hitler and Eva's last tour of the facility. Together, they visited all the areas of the Voß bunker, talking with cooks, nurses, doctors, secretaries, soldiers of all ranks, the injured – anyone they came across. Most were oblivious as to why their Führer was taking the time to make such a circuit, although a few, with tears in their eyes, figured it out fairly quick.

It was past 14:30 when the bombing reached a fevered crescendo. Soldiers were taking weapons from the Armory to reinforce the entrances to the bunker in attempts to hold off a Soviet invasion. A Sergeant was ordered to bring a sidearm for Hogan and returned with a Walther PPK rather than a Luger Hogan tended to prefer. The air was filled with dust and smoke near the Mess area, the result of the last salvo of shells.

Hogan was being called to deploy troops, direct defenses, and calm civilians. Injured soldiers who were fairly recovered gamely requested ammunition to join the protection of their comrades who were too wounded to look after themselves. Chaos was barely controlled and threatened to break out at any minute, the result of too many civilian personnel close to losing their self-control. Some tried to storm the exits, their fear of being captured by the Russians overriding their common sense to keep the egresses secured. Waylaid by duty and in the confusion, Hogan completely lost track of Hitler.

Hogan looked at his watch. 14:55. He had to find Hitler immediately or risk losing everything he'd been waiting for. He gave up trying to coordinate the masses and delegated to a nearby pair of Leutnants. Hogan fought through the panicking crowds like a salmon swimming upstream – the only one heading further into the bunker rather than out of it.

Hogan stopped an evacuating officer in the hall as he ran by, grabbing him by the shoulders to physically halt the man.

"Where's the Führer?" he demanded in desperation.

"Headed towards his quarters, sir," replied the soldier, breaking free of Hogan's grasp to continue his dash through the bunker tunnels.

Hogan let the man go and fought his way through the corridors, ignoring the spreading smoke and fleeing men. Crossing into the Führerbunker, he traversed the conference room with its overturned benches and table, stepping on long-abandoned maps and plans where they had spilled on the floor from their formerly neat pile. At the end of the room was the door leading to Hitler's private lounge where the marriage ceremony had taken place the night before. Hogan burst through, quickly scanning the room beyond for his quarry.

It was empty, but another door led off this little antechamber. Hogan had never been through this door before, but he didn't let that stop him. Working his way through a labyrinth of connected rooms, Hogan didn't take much notice of their function only that they didn't contain the man he was desperately searching for. Finally, he seemed to reach the end of the maze, exploding through the double doors into the last room at full tilt to find Eva sitting on a sofa with a vial of liquid in her hand. Both she and Hitler turned and stared at the intruder. She only hesitated for a moment, then quickly downed the contents.

Hitler stood and faced the man standing in the doorway of his private quarters, fury etched in living colour on his face.

"Strauss! What is the meaning of this?" he thundered, fists shaking at the intrusion.

Hogan was about to answer when a gasping cry came from the faded blue and white upholstered sofa. Eva was curled up, cramps wracking her small frame as she wrapped her arms around her stomach to try to ease the pain.

"Adolf!" she whimpered and Hitler turned back to her, sitting beside her. With a gentle hand, he wiped her brow, moving a piece of hair that had fallen across her face. He held her hand as her breathing increased, comforting her.

"Hush now, my little one," he cooed to her.

"I'm so tired, my love," she whispered as another cramp seized her. She fought a losing battle to keep her eyes open and her skin was taking on a bluish tinge.

"Rest now, my sweet. I shall join you soon," said Hitler, kissing her cheek softly. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, the convulsions eased, and Eva slipped quietly into death.

Hogan stared in shock as he watched the scene play out before him, helpless to stop beautiful, young Eva from taking her own life. Hitler rose from the sofa once more, a deadly expression plastered across his furious face.

"You were not supposed to witness her death!" Hitler roared. "You are not privileged enough, not pure enough, not _Aryan_ enough to observe her passing! How _dare_ you invade us here in our inner sanctuary? Our personal haven! You have violated the sanctity of our private place!"

Hitler paused, chest heaving, eyes wild. Then, like a switch flipping, he was suddenly calm.

"I asked you before, Strauss. What are you doing here?"

"I've come to stop you from doing what Eva just did. My name is not Strauss. It's Robert Hogan. _Colonel_ Robert Hogan, United States Army Air Corps. You might know me better as Papa Bear. I intend to make sure you stand trial for all the immoral crimes you committed in the name of Germany and her people."

"I have done nothing more than what needed to be done," Hitler stated so plainly, so succinctly, Hogan could sense the conviction the Führer had in what he said. After taking Hitler's Political statement last night, there was no doubt in Hogan's mind that even up to his dying breath, Hitler would truly have no remorse for any of his actions. That awareness ignited something deep in Hogan's gut and flared through his veins.

"You _murdered_ thousands! Millions? Women and children! Disabled! Jews! Even now you send your own _German_ children to die in your name, trying to continue a war which was lost _weeks_ ago because your ego doesn't believe in surrender!" shouted Hogan in a rare show of fury. It was Hogan's turn to grow enraged, livid at Hitler's lack of guilt or repentance.

"Germany deserves to win. After what the world put us through following the Great War, we _deserved_ every single inch of land we took!" Hitler's voice rose and he punctuated each word with a shake of his fist. Hogan watched as Hitler calmed once more, turning to pace in front of the sofa, ignoring his wife's body completely. He stopped by the end table and fiddled with a few items strewn across its surface. One finger trailed over a picture of his mother in a gesture which was almost wistful. He picked up another vial of golden liquid and faced Hogan.

"So…an American Colonel. _Papa Bear_. The most dangerous man in all of Germany, if you believe the Gestapo." Hitler paused to reflect. "Your accent is flawless. I commend you on how well you played the game. I suppose I should have suspected something during our planning sessions. Your skill at strategy is far more than a Hauptsturmführer should demonstrate. Only a flyer would have seen the relation between the levy and the flood plain. I never saw much use for pilots. Perhaps I was in error."

Hogan wasn't sure how he should take the back-handed compliment. For some strange reason, he felt pleased, almost proud, at the Führer's praise. It was almost enough to distract him. Almost. Hogan drew his gun and pointed it at Hitler.

"Put the vial down, Hitler," he ordered. "You are coming with me."

"And to think just this morning you referred to me as 'Mein Führer'. Yet another betrayal of those who were closest to me," Hitler said regretfully. His expression showed his bitter disappointment at Strauss' loyalty before hardening with determination. "How do you expect to leave here with me? Everyone knows of my intent to die rather than flee. You are surrounded by my most loyal soldiers. One word and you are dead," said Hitler, not moving an inch.

"Your _most_ _loyal_ soldiers are on the run. They are not here protecting you. I do believe you are on your own," said Hogan with a smile. "If you want to live, you'll come quietly with me. I have a plan to get us out." _Yeah, one I'm making up as I go along_, thought Hogan. _But you don't need to know that._

Hitler shrugged with indifference. "What makes you think I want to live? I have been preparing for my death since I came to realize Berlin was lost. The love of my life is dead. My country is once more in ruins thanks to people like you who would not try to embrace the epiphany I tried to show them. You think I will live if I come with you? _Nein!_ They shall parade me about as the captured Big Bad Wolf from a different faerie tale. They shall put me on trial for crimes they believe I have committed with no consideration as to why it had to be done this way and an unwillingness to open their minds to my way of thinking. And in the end, Colonel, they shall put me to death. Is that what I have to live for? Humiliation? Execution? I would rather die by my own hand." Hitler turned thoughtful. "Or perhaps yours?" Hitler smiled grimly. "Would you like the glory of killing Germany's Mad Man, Colonel? A crowning achievement in your magnificent career…"

"Not in my plans I'm afraid," said Hogan moving further into the room. "If I was here to kill you, you would already be dead. I've had numerous opportunities over the past month, although admittedly my chances of survival would have been practically non-existent. My orders are to take you back for trial. It would have been a great deal simpler if you had abandoned Berlin like you were advised by your General Staff. But no matter, we are leaving now. It will be much easier if you work with me to avoid the Russians. I think you would prefer British hospitality over Soviet, wouldn't you agree? Now put the vial _down_."

"Certainly," said Hitler, turning to put the small ampoule of amber liquid back on the end table. Before Hogan could stop him, Hitler popped the stopper off the end and brought the container to his lips. Reacting swiftly, Hogan tackled the Führer, not wanting to shoot him, but still Hitler managed to swallow a little less than half of the fluid. The vial flew out of Hitler's hand, rolling across the carpeted floor spilling the remaining contents in its wake. Hogan's gun skittered under the sofa by Eva's feet.

The two men grappled on the floor. Hogan was surprised by Hitler's strength as he struggled to subdue the smaller man. Hitler managed a strong jab in Hogan's ribs, causing him to gasp in shock. Stunned and winded for a moment, Hogan lost his grip on the Führer, who rolled and scrambled under the sofa for the missing handgun. Recovering quickly, Hogan leapt on Hitler's back, pinning him against the furniture. Hitler was panting with exertion now, the cyanide heightening the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He closed a hand around the butt of the gun as a spasm caused him to jerk, dislodging Hogan briefly.

Hitler rose up to his knees, gun in hand, and Hogan met him, grabbing his wrists to keep the weapon away. Another shudder caused Hitler to lose control of the arm holding the weapon and Hogan managed to force it down harshly against the side table. The impact sent the Walther PPK tumbling out of Hitler's grasp as he tried to cope with pain in his hand as well as the cramps in his abdomen. Even though he hadn't managed to consume the full dose, the cyanide was definitely having a debilitating affect on the Führer.

Hogan grabbed the gun off the floor and removed the safety, intending to bring the weapon up in defense but Hitler was on him again. Their faces were so close as they struggled Hogan could see Hitler's lips turning blue, the rivulets of sweat running down his forehead, and the pale greenish hue of his skin as the Führer fought the nausea rolling in his stomach. Hitler was blinking rapidly, fending off the drowsiness and dizziness which plagued him now as well.

An intense convulsion caused Hitler to wrench back, pulling Hogan forward over the seat of the sofa. The two men thrashed beside where Eva's body lay cooling, oblivious to the battle of good and evil beside her.

Hitler had his outstretched hand wrapped around Hogan's wrist, still attempting to gain control of the hand with the weapon. Hitler was weakening and Hogan was able to bring the gun down to eye level. Their eyes met; the fierce madness in Hitler's matching the intensity of the determination in Hogan's.

"I would have been proud to have had you as a loyal German," Hitler rasped. "With you truly on our side, Germany would have been victorious. You could have risen to be my right-hand man and had power beyond your dreams. You may have been better than all my Generals combined." Hogan watched as something in Hitler's eyes changed. He would swear later he saw a spark set fire to something cold and calculating as Hitler figured out how to claim the victory.

Hogan had no time to work out Hitler's scheme before he suddenly stopped pushing on Hogan's wrist, sliding his hand up to where Hogan's hand held the weapon. Hitler slipped his thumb over Hogan's finger on the trigger, enveloping the gun with his hand. Before Hogan could do more than widen his eyes as he realized Hitler's intention, Hitler moved his thumb, forcing Hogan to squeeze the trigger. The intensity of the gun discharging so close flung Hitler onto the sofa beside Eva. Blood splattered across Hogan's face and he crumpled to the floor.

It was quite a few minutes before Hogan could raise himself up into a sitting position. As he looked up at the sofa, he could see Hitler sprawled across the end opposite of where Eva lay, having bled out over the faded upholstery. Without the pressure on his wrist, Hogan's hand had dropped, causing the gun to discharge through Hitler's right temple, killing him instantly.

Hogan's ears were ringing from the discharge. He was fortunate Hitler had his hand over the top of the gun or else flash burns could have stolen his sight as well. _Did he intentionally spare me injury?_ Hogan would never know and didn't want to dwell on the implications the thought raised. He wiped a hand across his face, smearing the evidence of Hitler's ultimate checkmate.

Another explosion shook the underground complex. Hogan knew he had to move or he wouldn't escape. The Russians were knocking at the front door and they weren't looking for someone to come out to play. Hogan rose somewhat unsteadily, still holding his gun. As he stood there gaining his equilibrium, he contemplated the two on the sofa.

It was strange, but in the end Hogan had a lot in common with the dead man lying before him. They had both gambled; Hitler on the ability to keep Berlin, Hogan on being able to get Hitler to trial. They had both failed. And they had both contributed significantly to the other's failure. _Guess that makes it a stalemate_, thought Hogan. It was a game Hogan would have refused to play if he had known what the rules were before it began.

And Eva. Yesterday, she had been the happiest woman in the world, marrying the love of her life. Today that love had caused her death at much too young an age. She could have chosen to live and rebuild her life, perhaps having to live in anonymity but living never-the-less. She had so much left to give. It was amazing what love could drive a person to do.

Hogan knew he couldn't be discovered in this room and Bormann would be coming to retrieve the bodies soon. As he went to holster his gun, he was struck by the realization Bormann might find it strange Hitler died by gunshot with no weapon around. Crossing back to the sofa, he took the PPK and placed it in Hitler's hand, leaving the safety off as if it were just fired. Closing the doors behind him, Hogan made his way back through the labyrinth of rooms which had made up Hitler's private quarters.

He was headed down the hall when he heard "The Führer is dead!" shouted out behind him.

* * *

"Got him!" "Eureka!" shouted Carter and LeBeau at virtually the same time.

"What you got?" asked Newkirk coming over to see what his friends had discovered in the security books.

"First time Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss signs in is the afternoon of April 3rd," answered LeBeau, pointing to a line in the ledger. He gave a low whistle. "Would you look at this? Erlich Strauss was the Deputy Adjutant to the Führer! _Mon_ _Colonel's_ been working for Hitler directly!"

Newkirk's eyes widened at the revelation. _Just what 'ad the gov'na got 'imself inta this time?_ he wondered.

LeBeau flipped through the remainder of the book. "Seems to be signing in and out at roughly the same time every day, although there are a few evenings he worked late and Sundays too."

"Aye, that's the Colonel for ya. Even workin' for the enemy, 'e's always puttin' in overtime," commented Newkirk proudly.

"_Sacre chats!_ On April 10th, he signs in only five minutes after General Burkhalter! Their names are on top of each other," said LeBeau shocked at how close the Colonel came to being exposed. He wondered how often something like that had happened while the Colonel had been in Berlin, alone, without them for backup.

"Blimey that's a bit of a near miss," said Newkirk, scratching his head. "Imagine the gov'na tryin' ta explain that one to ol' Burkie!"

"The last entry is on April 15th. What have you got André?" asked LeBeau, closing his book.

"More of the same," replied Carter scanning through his ledger. "In and out every day…Wait a minute."

"What?"

"What is it?"

"Here… Friday, April 20th…" began Carter.

"That's the same day he checked out of the Hotel Adlon," said LeBeau excitedly.

"He signs in as _Adjutant_ to the Führer…" continued Carter.

"Adjutant – not Deputy Adjutant? Just Adjutant?" questioned LeBeau, leaning over to read the entry himself.

"Somethin' bad musta 'appened sometime between April 19 and 20, mates. The Colonel moved out of 'is accommodations and got a promotion the same day," mused Newkirk.

"Not only that, but he hasn't signed out yet." Carter dropped the bombshell on his two unsuspecting team mates.

"What!" they chorused, aghast at Carter's revelation.

"There are no further entries for Erlich Strauss at all after April 20th. But the Colonel's not the only one who doesn't sign out. There are several people, including some Generals, who don't sign out and then aren't listed again. The number of sign-ins drops a lot over the next couple of days and the book just stops on the 23rd."

"Oh _mon Colonel_, what has happened to you?" moaned LeBeau. "It's like the earth swallowed you whole on April 20th."

"I don't know, Louie, but I don't think we're gonna find 'im 'ere. The buildin's obviously deserted. We'd better 'ead back out, not that I 'ave a clue what ta do now or where ta look…" Newkirk drifted off.

The three men gathered up their gear in silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the possible fate of their Colonel, trying not to imagine the worst.

"Maybe he evacuated with Hitler and his command staff," suggested Carter positively as they exited the building. "We don't know what happened to them."

Newkirk, in the lead, had just turned to reply to Carter after descending the steps in front of the Reich Chancellery when the world exploded.

* * *

Evacuation was the next order of business for Hogan. He thought about a few items which were in his quarters but there was no time to go back for them. Screams could be heard coming from the Voßbunker from the area which housed the hospital. _Nurses_, thought Hogan.

The loudest boom he had ever heard echoed over Hogan's head, followed by a tremendous shaking. He had to grab the wall to steady himself as the shuddering, rumbling, crashing noises surrounded and overloaded his senses. Above him, the Chancellery had taken a direct hit, a portion collapsing into rubble. More smoke and dust rolled through the hallways making it impossible to see where he was going. Gunshots could be heard in the distance.

A soldier ran past carrying a machine gun. Hogan commandeered his personal sidearm before allowing him back into the fray. If he wanted to fight, Hogan would not stop him. Personally, it was time to escape. Everything he had stayed for was gone and survival was now the top priority.

Hearing cries that the north exit was blocked, Hogan decided to try the emergency exit near Hitler's quarters. Despite it opening on the inner courtyard, it was closest and not overrun by panicking, fleeing personnel since it was the Führer's personal exit. Most people in the bunker didn't know it existed. Climbing the spiral staircase, Hogan unlocked the door and pushed out to enter the garden.

The door stuck half way, rubble from the collapsed wing of the Chancellery stopping it from opening fully. Hogan managed to squeeze his way through the tight gap, feeling the bolts scrape his chest and thighs through his uniform. As he pushed through, he scanned the area for enemy – _no,_ _Allied_ – _ah, heck – Russian_ soldiers. Hogan didn't know what to call them. He'd be happier if Patton was rolling down the street.

The garden was clear and he took stock of his surroundings. He could climb over the remains of the building but quickly discarded the idea as who knew how unstable and dangerous the debris would be. It was also possible the Soviets were watching for survivors to escape from there. He knew Hitler must have had a way out of the inner block – why else would there be an emergency exit leading here? _Just my luck it would be in the part that just collapsed_, thought Hogan.

Hogan walked the circumference of the courtyard, examining the remaining walls. There was nothing save a regular door into the ground floor of the Chancellery. Apparently, Hogan had come out the secret door leading to the hidden bunker. The only other egress was to use the normal building door.

Trying not to over think the situation, Hogan tried to open the door. It was locked. Using his gun, he broke the side window by smashing it with the handle. Clearing the glass, he leaned in and managed to get the door opened. Entering the silent structure, Hogan looked ahead and smiled. There was a direct path straight across to another exterior door.

Hogan sprinted down the hallway, not wanting to remain inside the building the Russian tanks were using for target practice any longer than necessary. He ignored the intersections with other halls, intent only on reaching the outside world. He paused momentarily to peer out the nearby window to see what kind of situation was waiting on the other side of the door. Satisfied it seemed clear, Hogan slipped through the door and immediately sought out cover.

Central Berlin was burning. The Soviets were going crazy, setting many of the headquarter buildings on fire. Smoke blanketed the city and choked Allied and Axis alike. The pounding of tanks firing was closely followed by booming explosions and between their din was the staccato rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns interspersed with the distinct single shot of rifle fire. It was the music of war and it was rhythmic and frenzied, singing the song of death to too many.

Hogan was lost in the pandemonium. He had never been in ground combat before. The front lines were a foreign concept to a bomber pilot turned saboteur. While not a stranger to a single explosion, and Hogan had to admit some of Carter's were spectacular, the constant thudding which hammered his chest took his breath away, like the finale at the Fourth of July fireworks celebrations back home. On a constant basis, it added to his confusion and terror, not knowing when a shell would come out of no where and end his life. He didn't know which way to turn, where was safety, where was the enemy.

Who was the enemy? There was little trust between the Russians and the Americans politically beyond the declaration of being Allies in this fight against Germany. Would the Soviets recognize his claims to being American with no documentation to support it? Although he was wearing his SS uniform, he knew he would not find any protection with the German troops but at least they wouldn't shoot him on sight. There were still close to 10,000 German soldiers in the city center, being compressed slowly by the Soviet's relentless onslaught. It was only a matter of time before they realized they had no choice but to surrender. There was nothing left for them to fight for here; they didn't even know their Führer was dead and the seat of power moved to Flensburg with Großadmiral Dönitz, now President of the Reich. Hogan figured he'd do best by fending for himself and avoiding either side if possible. Finding civilian clothes was higher ranked than food and water for survival right now.

The Russians were continuing their attack on the heart of Berlin. Hogan knew he had to move now before coming face to face with ground troops sent in to round up POWs. He began by putting this into terms he could relate; with no infantry skills other than some limited maneuvers his brother Tom had taught him once after basic training, Hogan thought more like evading search lights than machine guns, Gestapo patrols than Soviet soldiers. _How had Tom survived this for four years?_ thought Hogan, then chastised himself for the distraction which nearly exposed him to a passing Russian tank.

Hogan ducked and dived, cowered in doorways, crawled under debris, and took shelter in burned out ruins but through it all, he only had one thing on his mind…_Run._

* * *

The sun was setting when Newkirk cracked open one eye. He was lying face up and could see white fluffy clouds hanging overhead reflecting the sun's golden rays as it approached the horizon. He opened the other eye and squinted at the brightness until they adjusted, looking around to see what had happened.

He was lying in the middle of the road. _Vo__ß__stra__ß__e_ came unbidden to his mind. _Terrific! I din't know what 'appened but I do remember what street I'm on!_ He took stock of his body, trying to determine if he had any serious injuries. Nothing was screaming at him for attention, so he slowly rolled and sat up, needing to find out what had happened to the others.

Newkirk had been in the lead exiting the Chancellery building, followed by LeBeau and Carter bringing up the rear. He had managed to reach the sidewalk while LeBeau was part way down the front steps and Carter at the top. He tried to puzzle out what had happened next but drew a blank other than a sense of being caught up in a swell of air pressure which knocked him off his feet. Newkirk sat up and looked around for his mates, a brief wave of dizziness washing over him as his blood pressure equalized.

For the first time since regaining consciousness, Newkirk glanced at the Chancellery. An entire section of the building was missing, laid waste to rubble. Debris was scattered into the sidewalk and street, the majority piled where the structure had once stood.

Fortunately, the portion which had been hit wasn't the front entrance or Newkirk wouldn't still be here. It was enough he and his team had been bowled over and tossed about by the explosion.

Feeling steady, Newkirk slowly climbed to his feet. He staggered a few steps as he took in the devastation around him. He had a few cuts on his face and hands, and his uniform was showing some signs of abuse – a few tears, mostly dirt and soot. He looked around for his friends, the piles of wreckage deceiving. Finally he spotted a lump which appeared human and he hustled over.

The body was facing away from Newkirk as he approached, but he could tell from its size it was Carter and not LeBeau.

"Carter! Carter, mate! Are ya with me?" Newkirk called out. He looked Carter over and didn't see any obvious signs of injury, then patted him down to check for broken bones. Finding nothing, he gingerly rolled over his friend and checked for a pulse. Relieved at finding it strong, he tapped Carter's cheek, hoping to rouse his unconscious team mate. "Carter! Come on, wake up! We still need to find LeBeau," he continued.

Carter finally started to come around, groaning as he did so. He took in Newkirk kneeling over him and raised his head to look about.

"What…"

"Shell took out part o' the buildin' we were in," anticipated Newkirk, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point out the ruins behind him.

"Oh. Guess we shoulda left sooner," said Carter, propping himself up on his elbows to see the mess for himself. "Where's LeBeau?"

"'aven't found 'im yet. Found you first. Now that you're awake, you can 'elp search," replied Newkirk. "Can you stand? You injured?"

"Just bruises I think and a humdinger of a headache. Good thing we had helmets on," said Carter as he sat up fully and took stock of his aches. Slowly, Newkirk helped him to his feet and he dusted himself off. "Close call. Any idea where Louie might be?"

"Not a bloomin' clue. Took me a bit to find you. I'll look over 'ere. You start over there. Keep in sight though," answered Newkirk.

"Right," said Carter moving off in the direction Newkirk indicated.

It took them about five minutes of searching before finding their lost Frenchman under a pile of twisted metal. He was till unconscious and the metal had torn quite a gash in his leg. Newkirk and Carter tried rousing him but were unsuccessful.

"What do we do now?" asked Carter.

"Well, we can't leave 'im 'ere in the street and 'e doesn't seem ta want ta wake up," said Newkirk. He tore a strip of material out of the liner of his uniform tunic and used it to bind LeBeau's leg. "We need ta get outta this part o' town for starters…"

As if to back up Newkirk's words, the whistling sound of another shell on its way interrupted the Englishman. Both Carter and Newkirk threw themselves over LeBeau, protecting him. The detonation shook the earth and raised dust all around. Fortunately, the bomb was targetted at the Luftwaffe Headquarters up the street, leaving the trio untouched this time.

"That tears it! We're outta 'ere!" exclaimed Newkirk, rising up to his knees. Panic was starting to set in. Neither man had been in ground combat before and they weren't liking it in the least. While Newkirk had been stationed in London during the Blitz, he had been in the air at the time of the attack, not experiencing it first-hand. Even Carter, who lived for his explosions, was finding it difficult to enjoy the ones falling haphazardly all around him. He much preferred to be in control of when and where explosions would occur.

"Where are we going to go?" asked Carter, looking around frantically. Any of the nearby buildings were out of the question as they were the targets of choice by the Russians at the moment.

"Anywhere but 'ere!" exclaimed Newkirk, gathering LeBeau in his arms.

"Back to the Hotel?" suggested Carter, turning to the north.

"I don't think so," said Newkirk, hearing machine gun fire coming from that direction.

"South?" offered Carter next.

Instead of voicing his agreement, Newkirk headed out, first going east to the corner of Wilhelmstraße, then turning to go south. Carter scurried to catch up. He had just cleared the corner when he ran into Newkirk who was coming back at him. Newkirk laid LeBeau down gently on the ground.

"What? What's happening? I thought we were going south?" asked Carter, looking to peer around the corner. Newkirk pulled him back.

"Russians," he said simply. "Almost got meself spotted by a tank several blocks away. South isn't an option."

"Now what?" Carter asked outloud. He leaned against the building and braced his hands on his knees while Newkirk bent over to check on LeBeau. "Is he showing any signs of waking up yet?"

"Not yet," Newkirk replied with a hint of worry in his voice. Newkirk looked up at Carter, waiting for direction on what to do now. Carter stared back.

The world phased out around Carter as he looked into Newkirk's worried face. The sound of the shells and the guns, the tanks and the explosions, faded into white noise as Carter thought about what to do. _Egads what do I do now? Newkirk's looking at me like I'm the Colonel now and have all the answers. LeBeau's injured, we're surrounded by the enemy, bombs are dropping all around us. I'm terrified. What do I do? What if one of them dies because of me? I wish we had found the Colonel. He'd know what to do. One thing I do know; I gotta get the guys to safety_, he thought, _they're counting on me_. He considered the limited options and made up his mind.

"We try for the Hotel," said Carter. "We know there're supplies there and less fighting to the north. We'll be able to patch up LeBeau's leg using the clean linen. It's our best option."

"Okay, mate. We'll give 'er a try," replied Newkirk softly.

Newkirk slung LeBeau over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while Carter led on point with his gun ready. They worked their way up Wilhelmstraße, keeping out of sight as best they could. They crossed paths with several German soldiers but no Russian ones.

They made it to the Hotel Adlon without further incident and got LeBeau up to the room he had slept in the night before. Carter fetched supplies for Newkirk, who was able to wash out the leg wound and bandaged it in some torn up bed sheets. Shortly after Newkirk was done, LeBeau started to surface as if he knew the blood was all cleaned up.

The little Frenchman opened his eyes and took in his surroundings with surprise.

"What am I doing here?" he asked his team mates.

"Shell exploded and levelled part of the Chancellery," began Carter. "We were all knocked out. You got hit a little harder I guess – tore a good gash in your leg but Newkirk's got it all cleaned out and bandaged. We needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night while you recovered and we managed to make it back to the Hotel," finished Carter, skipping over the dicey details of their run in with more shelling and the tank.

"You two are okay?" asked LeBeau concerned.

"Yeah, just some cuts and bruises. Nothing major, but we'll probably ache tomorrow though," said Carter, easing his friend's worry.

"You carried me all that way?" asked LeBeau.

"Darn right I did. Didn't do me back any favours either," moaned Newkirk with an exaggerated stretch as he came nearer to the bed. "You need ta lay off your own cookin', mate."

LeBeau scowled at the implied insult over how much he weighed, knowing it was Newkirk's way of showing he cared.

"'Fraid I'm not much of a cook," said Carter, interrupting the exchange between the two friends which would have grown heated in a minute or two. He handed each of them a can of warmed C rations. "Back to the old stand-bys tonight."

The trio ate in silence. Carter and Newkirk brought mattresses in from the other suites and put them in LeBeau's room, not wanting to leave their injured team mate alone overnight. The day had been exhausting and they called it an early night, trying not to imagine what perils they would run into tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: There is much debate over Hitler's death and the fate of his body. Many sources state he took cyanide in addition to the shot to his head, but there are conflicting reports on the head shot. Some say it was through the temple, others figured the angle was more from under the chin and out through the top of his head. It appears Eva Braun only took the cyanide.

Cyanide poisoning is rapidly fatal if ingested but can take up to an hour if exposure was through skin absorption. Initial symptoms are excitement, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, headache, and spasms, followed by an abnormal or slower heartbeat, shortness of breath, chest tightness, blue skin, fluid in lungs, drowsiness, convulsions, hallucinations, and finally loss of consciousness/coma before succumbing to death. Victims may not present with all symptoms. (Summarized from CDC - Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and ATSDR - Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry). All in all, I can think of nicer ways to die.

As for the fate of their bodies, it is still not clear. Bormann was supposed to have arranged for Otto Günsche (another of Hitler's adjutants whom I didn't feel necessary to include in this story) to take their bodies to be burned in the Chancellery garden by dousing them with gasoline, but it seems he only partially accomplished the job. The Russians claim to have retrieved the bodies and taken them to Magdesburg where they were buried. Other reports say the Soviets took them along with Goebbels' body to Rathenow in Brandenburg for burial. (Goebbels committed suicide on May 1. He gave his 6 children heroin to put them to sleep, then gave them cyanide. He then committed suicide with his wife Magda).

In 1970, the remains were allegedly exhumed, cremated and the ashes scattered in the Elbe River. There was a story on MSN as recently as the mid-October 2009, maintaining the Russians still had the portion of Hitler's skull with the bullet hole, but an American researcher supposedly debunked it, citing the skull belonged to a female. The entire truth may never be fully revealed.


	36. Chapter 36: May 1

May 1, 1945

The next morning, LeBeau's leg was well on its way to healing. It had scabbed over nicely and didn't show any indications of infection. Newkirk replaced the bandages to keep it protected, but LeBeau was up and about, walking without a limp. He even put together a decent breakfast for the team to eat.

They were making plans over breakfast when they heard shouting out in the street. Crouching down, they peered out the café windows to see what the commotion was about.

"Russians!" exclaimed Carter.

"Shhhh!" hushed LeBeau. "We don't want them to hear us."

"Bloody marvellous, that is," said Newkirk. "We're suddenly surrounded by Soviets and we're wearin' bloomin' Kraut uniforms."

"What do we do? They're coming this way!" said LeBeau in a harsh whisper.

"Hide?" suggested Carter.

"Alrighty, gents, quickly then. Up the ol' apples and pears," said Newkirk, moving away from the window and slinking through the café.

Carter and LeBeau looked at each other puzzled and shrugged, long accustomed to their Cockney's friends strange sayings, then followed him through the café, the hotel lobby, and up the stairs to their room. They watched the main street from the window. Several armed Russians were moving unchallenged down the street. It appeared the hotel was now in Soviet territory.

A group of four soldiers broke off from their unit and approached the entrance of the hotel where they disappeared from the second floor view.

"They're coming in to check the hotel," said Carter. "If they see us in these uniforms, they're going to shoot us on sight."

"No time to change," said LeBeau.

"Tunics off! We'll look less German in our undershirts," said Newkirk, while unbuttoning his uniform. He quickly shucked it off and threw it on the bathroom floor, then turn to catch Carter's and LeBeau's as they threw theirs to him. Dumping their tunics in the bathroom with his, he quickly shut the door, hiding the evidence. He pulled the hem of his undershirt out of his waistband to help cover the military-issue pants and the others did the same.

"Now what?" asked LeBeau, looking to his friends for instructions.

"We take 'em out," said Newkirk, cocking his gun.

"We can't do that – they're our Allies!" exclaimed Carter in alarm.

"Well what would you suggest? Invite them in for a cuppa?" countered Newkirk.

"Not exactly, no. We need information," said Carter.

"Capture them?" asked LeBeau incredulously.

Newkirk shrugged. "Eh, why not?"

The sound of boots on the stair silenced the trio. Using hand signals, they got into position. They didn't have a firm plan in place but they weren't exactly strangers to this kind of thing thanks to certain jobs for the Operation.

They didn't have long to wait before the door to the suite opened slowly. A single Soviet entered cautiously, armed with a machine gun. When he got several steps into the room, three things happened at once: LeBeau opened the bathroom door, causing the door to the suite to swing shut; Carter jumped out from behind the dresser to the left of the door; and Newkirk popped up from behind the kitchen counter.

Surprised and surrounded, the Russian put his hands up, letting Newkirk take his machine gun. Carter took a couple strips of linen and bound the soldier's hands with one, fashioning a gag out of the other. Then they marched him over to the window side of the bed and forced him to sit against the wall.

Before long, the other Soviets realized their comrade was missing and began to search for him. Taking their positions again, the team waited for another Russian to enter the room. They didn't have long to wait.

The second Russian soldier entered the suite and saw his companion tied up across the room. He called out to the rest of his team for back up, looking around the room. Spotting Carter beside the chest of drawers, he went to bring up his weapon, but Newkirk stepped out from behind the counter and cocked his gun in the Soviet's ear. Realizing he was caught, he raised his hands and surrendered his machine gun.

Before Carter and Newkirk could tie up the second soldier, the rest of his team came bursting through the door. Newkirk acted quickly and grabbed the second Russian in a choke hold, using him as a shield while aiming his gun at the two new soldiers. Carter made himself known and one of the soldiers took aim at him.

It was a standoff. Nobody moved for what seemed like a long time. Then suddenly, LeBeau emerged from the bathroom, changing the balance of power to the team's side. The three remaining Russians were tied up and set down with their other team mate, to whom they removed the gag.

"Privyet!" said Carter to the foursome on the floor, giving a little wave. The Russians looked at each other in confusion.

"Vy govoritye po-russki?" asked one of them in surprise.

"Nyet," said Carter, confusing the Soviets even more. Newkirk caught hold of Carter's sleeve and dragged him over to the door and out of earshot of their prisoners.

"What are you doing?" he asked, quietly but firmly.

"Just saying 'Hi!'. Igor taught me a few words in Russian," replied Carter with a smile.

"Enough to interrogate 'em?" asked Newkirk.

"Well, no," hedged Carter. "But that doesn't mean I can't put them at ease by saying hello in their own language. I think the one guy asked if I spoke Russian, so I told him No."

"No wonder they look more confused than anythin'. You told them in Russian you don't speak Russian! You sure you said it right? We'll never get anythin' outta 'em if you've gone an insulted 'em," continued Newkirk.

"Well if you know so much, why don't you give it a shot?" challenged Carter, reacting to Newkirk's attitude.

"Right'o, I will," he replied, turning and walking back to the waiting quartet.

"Alright you lot, any of you speakie the King's English?" asked Newkirk in a loud voice.

Newkirk's question caused the prisoners to lean in to each other and rattle off string after string of Russian in low voices. Newkirk let them speak for a minute or so before interrupting.

"Oi! I want an answer, mates!"

"Da," replied the second soldier. "I speak little English. You not German?"

"_Non, je suis Fran__ç__ais_," said LeBeau. "Do you speak French better than English?"

"Nyet, no French," he replied. "Who are you?"

The team exchanged glances before answering.

"Allied Intelligence," said Carter. "I'm American. My friends are British and French. We need some information."

"You have proof? You wear German uniforms, you could lie," the Russian said.

Carter fished his dog tags out from under his shirt and held them up close enough the Soviet could read them. "Well, we haven't hurt you for one thing, because we're supposed to be Allies. My name's Carter. I'm a Technical Sergeant with the United States Army Air Corps. We're posing as Germans to find one of our lost agents. It is very important we find him soon. We need to bring him home. You help us with some information and we'll let you go."

The Russian nodded and Carter put his ID tag away. The Soviet turned to his comrades and translated the conversation to catch them up on the situation.

"What do you need to know?" he asked.

* * *

Look. Run. Duck. Hide. Repeat.

This was the routine playing through Hogan's head as he struggled through his day. Look for the enemy. When clear, run to the next cover. Duck for falling debris, gun shots, or shelling. Hide from any passing soldiers. Above all, keep going.

And it was getting harder and harder. It was becoming obvious the Russians were closing a net around central Berlin. Hogan would start to make progress in one direction, only to suddenly find German troops retreating towards him and be forced to change his heading again.

The street Hogan was currently on seemed fairly quiet for once. He kept to the sides of the buildings, not wanting to present an exposed target by walking down the center of the road. It was a lot like sneaking between the barracks at night and avoiding the search lights. The similarities kept Hogan grounded and gave him more confidence in what he was doing. He was approaching the intersection with another road when he heard the sound of booted feet on the pavement. Quickly, he ducked into the nearest building, which fortunately seemed quite sound. This part of the city seemed to have been spared most of the bombing damage.

Hogan found himself inside an office, perhaps a lawyer's judging by the multiple names on the door. It had large front windows on either side of the entrance which were cracked but amazingly still in place. Hogan hunkered down and kept watch on the street, his gun drawn and ready. The patrol appeared in his line of sight from the window, and Hogan could see they were Russian. He held his breath and hoped they would continue on their street and not turn the corner. A moment passed and he slowly released the air he had been holding as they carried on down their own road.

Hogan relaxed and went to holster his weapon when a quiet shuffling noise reached his ears. He went on alert again, tensing as he scanned the dimly lit room. The sound came again, from the rear of the office. Hogan was certain now he wasn't alone in the building. He crept forward in a crouch, keeping low behind the large desks. He had pinpointed the location of the noise to behind the desk he was currently squatting beside. He coiled himself and sprang around the desk, gun aimed and ready.

What he found caused him to instantly point the weapon at the ceiling and reset the safety. Underneath the desk was a middle-aged woman, brown hair tousled and frizzy, thin face dirty and tear stained. She gasped at Hogan's abrupt appearance, a pale hand rising to cover her mouth. Hogan knelt down in front of her, partly to speak to her at her level, partly to remain behind cover.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" The question could have come out harsh and demanding, but it didn't. Hogan spoke quietly and reassuringly to the obviously scared woman.

"My name is Maria," she began haltingly. "I have an apartment over this office. I was going out to search for some food when you came in so I hid under the closest desk."

"You shouldn't be going out there. The streets are crawling with the Red Army. The fighting is very close. It's too dangerous."

"And yet you venture out there," she countered, bravely.

"I'm a soldier and I am armed. Believe me when I say I wish I had another choice," replied Hogan, looking back towards the front windows again but all was still on the street.

"I have to go. I have no food. We ran out almost a full day ago…"

"We?" Hogan's head swivelled back to look at the woman, quick to pick up on the plural.

"My daughter is hidden upstairs. She is seven. If I could find just a little, for her…"

Hogan squeezed his eyes shut. He understood what it was to be hungry; he had not eaten since yesterday either. With all the physical running and hiding he'd been doing, he was starting to tap into his energy reserves. He dearly wanted to help Maria and her daughter but he had nothing to offer. He ran one hand through his hair and sighed.

"Do you know where to find any food?" he asked, figuring the woman might know more about the area than he did.

"I was going to head to my uncle's place a few blocks over. He had a large stockpile which I've been accessing for the last couple of weeks," she replied.

"You do realize a Russian patrol just passed by the end of the street? I don't think it wise to be trying to go back and forth between here and your uncle's," said Hogan.

Maria fell silent for a while as she began to realize the seriousness of her situation.

"Is the rumour true?" she asked quietly as she rubbed some dirt from her hand.

"What rumour is that?" asked Hogan, back to watching the street.

"The Führer; they say he is dead and we are all lost," said Maria, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Yes, it is true the Führer is dead. Großadmiral Dönitz is in charge now in Flensburg. He will continue the fight for Germany but it is looking like Berlin will fall to the Russians very soon." Hogan tried to reassure and yet speak the honest truth at the same time.

"You know this for certain?" she asked, eyes wide at the plain revelation.

Hogan nodded. "I was there," he replied quietly.

Tears fell down Maria's cheeks and Hogan began to understand the depth of the following which Hitler had garnered from his people. He had been a dynamic personality in public, sweeping across his country and gathering any and all supporters, giving his people the faith to have confidence in themselves again. Some were true believers, enamoured with Hitler's vision and promises to bring greatness to Germany. A long silence settled on the pair.

"Is there room for you to stay at your uncle's?" Hogan asked out of the blue.

"Yes, I suppose arrangements could be made," replied Maria, curious as to what the SS soldier was thinking.

"Get your daughter and grab a small – very small – bag of necessities. A change of clothes, maybe a favourite doll," ordered Hogan.

"What do you…?"

"I'm going to escort you to your uncle's while the streets around here are still quiet. Hurry," Hogan urged, pulling Maria out from under the desk and helping her stand. When she just stood there staring at him, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around, nudging her towards the back stairs to get her moving.

Once started, she quickly dashed up to her apartment. She was gone fifteen minutes or less, time Hogan spent watching the street from the front window once more. When Maria returned, she had a market bag slung over one shoulder nearly overflowing with clothing, and a small girl grasped in her hand.

"Set?" asked Hogan, appraising the pair. Maria nodded. "Where is your uncle's?"

Maria explained the shortest way to get there. Hogan reminded them to stay close and quiet, and to do exactly what he said. Taking one last scan outside, Hogan eased out the front door and once more checked the street. Seeing all was clear, he waved the girls out of the office entrance and headed off to the corner, keeping close to the buildings and ensuring his charges did the same.

They worked their way across the city, Maria and her daughter doing remarkably well, the little girl remaining calm and quiet the entire way which surprised Hogan.

"Okay, we're just about there, correct?" asked Hogan when they got to the final corner.

"Yes. My uncle's is around the corner and a little more than half way down the block. It is not far now," confirmed Maria. "We've made it."

Hogan hoped Maria's words hadn't jinxed them. He peered around the corner of the building they were pressed against. He was relieved to see all was clear. He eased around the edge, Maria and her daughter trailing behind. They got a quarter of the way down the block when the sounds of approaching men reached Hogan's ears. Looking around quickly, he pulled his two charges into the nearest building, a laundry service by the looks of the machinery in the rear of the structure. Maria and her daughter hid behind the counter while Hogan took up a spot under the front window to monitor what was going on outside.

A Soviet patrol passed their window not two minutes after the trio had hidden inside. Hogan stayed ducked under the window sill until the sounds of their footfalls had passed. He breathed a sigh of relief they had remained undetected. He eased himself up to take stock of the situation.

The sight which met Hogan's eyes was not what he had hoped for. The entrance to Maria's uncle's apartment was still four doors down, approximately a hundred yards, give or take. Fifty feet beyond that, the patrol had stopped for a cigarette break. _Just my luck_, thought Hogan.

Maria popped her head up from behind the counter, eyes clearly asking what was going on. Hogan made motions to get her to get down, making little walking gestures with his fingers and pointing down the street. She must have understood as her eyes widened and she disappeared.

Hogan thought about what do to next. Hopefully the patrol would move on shortly and they would be home free. He waited and waited, watching the sun move across the sky as the patrol refused to budge. Maria and her daughter were beginning to get antsy and Hogan realized he would soon be having a problem with the little girl needing a washroom or something before the patrol left. _There must be something about this area they are suspicious about_, thought Hogan. _I think I'm going to have to give them something to confirm their suspicions_.

Hogan called Maria over to him to explain his hastily crafted plan. She tried to protest but Hogan explained there was no other way. The patrol looked like they were going to settle in for the long haul.

"I'm going to have to distract them," he began. "When they chase after me, check to make sure all of them has left before you leave the shop. There are five, so you need to watch as they run past the window. Keep low but they'll be distracted enough trying to catch me not to be looking in any stores along the way. After they've all gone past, you and your daughter will be able to reach your uncle's."

"It is too dangerous. They will shoot you!" Maria exclaimed.

"You can't stay here the entire night. Think about your daughter. She's already been a full day without food and the store will be cold and uncomfortable overnight. Besides, I've done this sort of thing before. It will be alright."

Maria slowly acquiesced. "Thank you. I hope you will be okay. I can never repay you, but thank you for giving my daughter and me a chance." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "For good luck," she smiled.

Hogan felt his cheeks warm slightly. Clearing his throat, he replied, "You're welcome. I hope you come out of this war okay, Maria. Ready?"

She nodded and went back behind the counter to gather her daughter and their things, and moved out to hide under the sill. Hogan drew his gun and eased the door to the laundry service open quietly. He peered around the corner to check the position of the patrol. Still hadn't moved. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves and then took off.

He shot out of the doorway, running full tilt down the street away from the patrol. Shouts of detection bounced off his back as the patrol easily spotted him. They quickly gave chase, just as Hogan had hoped they would. The sound of the first bullet firing reached his ears as he was almost to the corner. He dodged to his left, rounding the corner, a bullet shattering the brick over his head. Instinctively he ducked, throwing his hands over his head to protect it as he continued running all out. The shots stopped for a minute as the patrol caught up and rounded the corner, hot on his heels. Hogan needed to draw them a little further away to ensure Maria would make it safely, so he turned and fired back at the patrol, not purposely trying to hit anyone. It incised them to continue the pursuit and Hogan found himself swerving left and right to avoid the hail of bullets directed at him as he continued to run.

He was tiring, there was no doubt. No food and little water were taking their toll in addition to the lazy life he'd been living in the bunker for the last few weeks. He had to ditch his pursuers now. He fired a few more shots at them again as he headed up another street. He lucked out. There were alleys between these buildings and Hogan quickly disappeared into one. He worked his way back and forth between the buildings and quickly lost his would-be captors. Finally he put his gun away, convinced the patrol had given up.

It was almost dark by now and Hogan was no nearer to escaping Berlin then he had been at sun up this morning. He gave a world-weary sigh and tried to buck up. This would not be as easy as he hoped. He tried to put a bright-side on the situation; at least he was no longer trapped in the bunker, Hitler was dead, the Allied victory was getting so close he could practically taste it, and he was alive and free. He refused to make a list on the down side.

Thinking these positive thoughts and exhausted to the point of collapse, he found another abandoned building, which he searched top to bottom, inside out and backwards to ensure no more surprises like Maria. Then he curled up in a dark corner and sacked out for a few hours, knowing the darkness would make the best cover for a chance to break out of Berlin. It would be a long night.

* * *

The Soviets ended up being fairly helpful. The area the hotel was in had indeed become part of Russian territory, as had most of Berlin. Word had spread the Führer was dead and Berlin was expected to surrender within the next few hours, a day at most. German POWs were already being rounded up and brought to temporary processing centers. The nearest one was in Potsdamer Platz, which was handling those Germans captured in and around the city center. The Russians suggested the team head there to find their lost agent. True to his word, Carter released the Soviets.

The next issue became their German uniforms. The Russian uniforms were a rather ragtag affair, and the Soviets admitted the Red Army was woefully under clothed. Many a Russian soldier was scavenging boots off the fallen German soldiers, some even stripping the corpses of pants they were so needy. In the end, the team opted to change into civilian clothing left behind in some of the other hotel suites. They kept their boots and hoped to find some Russian uniforms if they needed them.

Potsdamer Platz was only a few blocks south and west of the Hotel Adlon. Feeling a lot less conspicuous then when they wore their German uniforms, the team moved more easily through the streets of central Berlin. Most of the fighting was done here now, except for the area immediately around the Reich Chancellery. The team avoided the area to be on the safe side.

It was nearing evening again by the time they reached Potsdamer Platz. The Platz showed a lot of wear and destruction. It would have been impressive when it was in its heyday, a center for shopping and hub for business. The team selected a bomb-damaged but stable-looking building on the edge of the large open area where they could see captured German soldiers being brought in. They settled in for the night, to watch and to wait.

* * *

A/N: "Up the old apples and pears" is Cockney rhyming slang for "up the stairs".

The term "Red Army" was used by the Russians until 1946, when they replaced it with "Soviet Army".

Many thanks to Bits and Pieces for the Russian translation:

Привет! – Privyet! – Hello/Hi (informally to a friend)

Вы говорите по-русски? – Vy govoritye po-russki? – Do you speak Russian?


	37. Chapter 37: May 2, part 1

_A/N: Warning: contains scenes of violence and __minor assault_

May 2, 1945

Hogan ran down the alley, keeping to shadows, dropping behind boxes, piles of rubble, and anything else he could find large enough to conceal him when he heard booted feet or shouts in Russian getting too close. He was covered in dirt, soot sticking to his sweaty face and smudging streaks across his uniform. He had his Luger out, but he only had a few rounds left in it and was desperate to either find more or another weapon which was fully loaded. He had no idea where he was headed; just as he started off in one direction, he had to detour for collapsed buildings or enemy troops.

He had no choice but to consider the Russians as enemies. He was well-known in the inner circles now as an SS Captain and would no doubt be easily identified by any other captured peer. He had no documentation to support his claim of being American; his dog tags, Air Corp uniform, and papers all long left behind when Norbert pulled him out of Stalag 13. He had considered changing into civilian attire but no opportunities to do so had presented themselves as yet; he was still in the heart of Berlin where the buildings were mostly military offices. He was hedging his bets at this point, thinking he might get further as SS if he found any of their troops. The civilians were being treated just as poorly as the soldiers by the Soviets, and the German soldiers were treating the civilians equally as bad. At least his uniform provided him some protection from his own 'adopted' military.

The sun had finally risen not too long ago and Hogan had been going around in endless circles all night, no closer to breaking out of the city but never ending up back in the same place. He started north, detoured west, was forced south, and then was diverted east. The pattern repeated, varying the number of blocks he was made to travel in each direction, all while avoiding shells and troops, civilians, bombs and snipers.

Hogan was starving to the point of weakness. He hadn't eaten anything since escaping the Führerbunker with nothing more than the shirt on his back and the weapon in his hand. He was thankful he at least had that. He had been forced to use it on a couple of occasions already; once when helping Maria, the other to cover his retreat from almost walking right into a Russian patrol. Fortunately, he had once again been able to out run them; they were hardly interested in one sole man and had easily given up the chase.

Hogan could see he was finally making it into the more residential area of Berlin. Passing a Grocer, he spared the time to duck in and quickly evaluate if any food was left. The door and windows were smashed, pieces of broken glass littering the shop floor. The stands were empty, the odd remaining bit of produce rotten, mouldy, and covered in flies. The shelves for canned goods were bare, coated in a layer of dust. He hung his head in disappointment. There was nothing here. Preparing to move on, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Bending down, he pulled out a can of sardines which had fallen from a shelf and been kicked under the produce stand.

_Sardines. __Ugh._ _Of all the things I had to find, it had to be sardines?_ thought Hogan. Somebody upstairs was really out to get him. He hated the little fishes with a passion. Always gave away the ones he got in his Red Cross package. Half the men passing through the Traveller's Aid Society moved on with a can of his sardines in their pockets as emergency rations. He looked at the treasured little can, a gold mine in his current world, trying to find the inner strength to face what was inside.

Hogan did a cursory look for patrols out the broken front window before hunkering down behind the check out counter. Gritting his teeth, he raised the little pull tab and peeled back the lid. He almost gagged as the smell washed over him, the tiny whole fishes lined up in the tin staring back at him through the packing oil. He put the tin down for a minute and got a grip. _This is ridiculous!_ Hogan chastised himself. He was starving, not having eaten for two days. He had to keep his strength up if he was to have any chance whatsoever of escaping. There was no telling when he'd be able to find anything else to sustain him.

He reached for the can and held it in his lap. Grabbing the top fish by its tail, he lifted it up in front of his face, watching it stare back at him. Of course, these had to be ones without the head removed. _What the hell kind of soldier am I?_ wondered Hogan. He could shoot the damn Führer but couldn't swallow a sardine to save his life! Embarrassed even though he was alone, Hogan screwed his eyes shut and quickly popped the fish into his mouth, tearing off the tail, and chewed. He desperately tried to ignore the bones crunching and slimy feel of the heavily oiled fish skin against his tongue. He swallowed as fast as he could. Panting from the effort of eating the first one, he stopped to count how many more were in the can.

Needing something to take his mind off the horrible repast he was forcing himself to eat, he decided to make a game of it. _This one's G__ö__ring_, he thought, _and this one's Hitler because it's the smallest. Bormann is next, followed by Himmler, Jodl, and D__ö__nitz…_ By the time he finished the can, Hogan had a bit of a smile on his face having eaten the entire German General Staff.

His delight in finding the can empty was abruptly shattered by the screams of a woman coming from down the street. Jumping to his feet, he rushed to the doorway and checked to see if it was all clear. Hearing the woman shriek again, Hogan headed in the direction he thought the commotion was coming from. Working his way down the road, he peered around the corner when he met the cross street. Around the corner, the lane opened up to a small square where two Russians were dragging a civilian woman by the wrists while a third Russian led the way. The young woman, who looked like she had barely reached her twenties, was struggling against the grip of the soldiers.

Three to one odds were not great in Hogan's opinion and there was the possibility of more soldiers being in the square. As much as he wanted to help her, he decided to err on the side of caution for now and continued to watch.

He couldn't understand what the soldiers were saying. Even when they shouted at the girl and he could hear every word, Hogan couldn't comprehend Russian. It appeared the fraülein didn't either. The soldiers were getting quite worked up about something and slapped the woman across the face when she failed to respond to a question. She cried out again, repeating over and over in German that she didn't know what they wanted.

The strike was almost enough to cause Hogan to charge from his hiding spot and come to her defence. He didn't like to see anyone, especially women, mistreated in such a manner. However, he held his ground and gritted his teeth in frustration at his helplessness at being out-numbered. He considered moving on and leaving the girl to the Russians; no doubt they had orders to round up anyone they could find, soldier and civilian alike. He surveyed the streets behind him, looking for movement and trying to figure out where he was heading from here.

The sound of the woman's cries turning to pleas for mercy had Hogan whipping his head around in her direction. A fourth soldier had joined the others. He must have been of higher rank as the other three seemed to defer to him. He was currently stroking one hand down her face, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear where it had escaped her golden braid. Hogan could see her lips muttering. Fresh tears ran down her face as the Russians laughed at her discomfort. The soldier's hand continued behind the fraülein's neck, holding her head firm as he pressed his lips against hers in a savage kiss. He broke it off and she spit in his face, her only defence with her arms still held by the other two men. It earned her another vicious slap, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing up the alley to where Hogan was hiding. The Russian was on her in an instant, ripping open her blouse and groping the exposed skin underneath. The girl struggled against the assault to no avail, shouting and attempting to bite and kick her way out of the strong hold of her captors.

They threw her down to the ground, instantly pinning her on her back. Her ruined clothing fell to her sides, giving Hogan a glimpse of her bare chest between the bodies of the men who held her.

Hogan didn't even know he was moving. Gun up as he ran, the first round went through the head of the soldier pinning the girl's right side. As he collapsed, the others looked up at where the shot had come from, too slow to react. The second blast took out the soldier on the girl's left, freeing her completely. She scrabbled to her feet, holding the edges of her shirt together to preserve her dignity as she turned and fled from the spot where she was almost raped.

The remaining two Russians spun to face the oncoming enraged SS soldier. Hogan once more aimed his pistol, targeting the one who had arrived last and done all the dirty work. Hogan fired but the soldier was already in motion, the bullet going just wide of the Soviet. Hogan re-aimed and fired again.

_Click_

The sound of the empty Luger halted Hogan in his tracks, cold fear replacing the hot rage which had spurred him to react solely on instinct. He had known he was low on ammunition which was why he hadn't acted sooner, but there was no way he could have stood by and watched the Russian soldiers rape the young woman.

Hogan spun around and headed back the way he came, desperately hoping to make the corner to try to escape through the maze of rubble and streets beyond. The Russians had drawn their own weapons and were taking aim at the brazen German who had dared to ruin their fun and kill two of their own. A hail of bullets followed Hogan down the lane. One clipped his upper arm throwing him a little off balance, then another grazed his thigh causing him to stumble as his leg gave out. Before he could regain his feet, the Russians had rushed up to where he had fallen and threw him against the building wall, guns at the ready.

Hogan knew he was beat. His arm and thigh throbbed with each pulse of his racing heart. He dropped the useless Luger and raised his hands in surrender.

"Vstan'tye," said the first Russian. "Vstan'tye! Vstan'tye!" he shouted, indicating with his weapon that Hogan should rise.

Hogan struggled to his feet, the wound on his leg bleeding freely and giving him some difficulty. He was certain it would clot on its own, as would his arm eventually. It would be a case of preventing infection from setting in. He didn't think the Soviets would be providing sterile bandages any time soon. He leaned against the wall and patiently waited for the Russian to make the first move.

"Vy govoritye po-russki?" the Soviet asked.

Hearing the word 'russki', Hogan concluded the man was asking if he spoke Russian as it was obvious that he wasn't one. "Nein," he replied automatically in German, the only language he'd spoken since assuming his post with the SS.

"English, perhaps?" the soldier continued.

Hogan nodded once, glad they would have a common language to use. He hoped this would help prevent any misunderstandings.

"So…" began the Russian in English, "we have ourselves a brave man. A _hero_ saving damsels in distress. One against four. Do you like to try to beat the odds? I wonder, would you have taken the chance if you had known ahead you only had three bullets left?"

"What you were doing to that girl was wrong, no matter what Army you serve," said Hogan, anger rolling in his gut at the reminder.

"She is trash!" shouted the Russian, fist striking Hogan in a right-cross which split his lip and caused his head to snap back against the brick, stunning him. As quick as the anger erupted, it dissipated. The Russian backed up, but Hogan still had no where to go as the other Soviet had his gun trained on him. "Do you know what you Germans have done to us?"

"No more than what you have done to them, I'm sure," said Hogan, wiping his lip with the back of his hand and wincing. "Does that give you the right to harm civilians? It was German _soldiers_ who carried out orders against your people, not the common public. That girl has done nothing to you and didn't deserve what you were going to do to her."

"You seem to have a strong sense of moral justice," said the Russian, choosing his words carefully, deliberately. "Fine. Then as a representative of German _soldiers_, you shall stand in their stead." He grinned a cold smile causing a shiver to cascade down Hogan's spine. The Russian turned and picked up a short length of pipe which lay discarded in the alley.

"I've never even been to Russia!" protested Hogan. "I'm not even Ger…"

"And you killed two of my men!" shouted the Soviet before Hogan could finish. The Russian spun and marched back to where Hogan was leaning against the wall. Without any warning, he swung the pipe into Hogan's stomach, winding him and causing him to double over in pain.

"Grab his arm and hold it against the wall," ordered the first Russian to the other. The second man hoisted Hogan up and pinned him against the side of the building, setting his forearm across Hogan's throat to keep him in place. He stretched out Hogan's left arm and held it there.

Hogan thrashed wildly and tried to free himself with all his being. The more he struggled, the more the pressure increased against his windpipe, cutting off valuable oxygen. He was seeing stars in front of his eyes. He tried stomping one of his jackboots down on the Russian's foot, but that only got him a sharp jab in the ribs right over the spot where Hitler had hit him days ago. If his ribs weren't bruised before, they were now. The arm returned to his throat and he continued to gasp against its pressure.

Hogan watched powerless to stop the angry Russian as he suddenly stepped forward and brought the pipe down with all his strength to crush Hogan's outstretched hand. Hogan screamed in agony as his bones shattered under the onslaught, flesh shredding against the brick building. The soldier pinning him abruptly let go and Hogan collapsed in a heap, cradling his injured limb to his chest, helpless to hold back tears from the intense pain making tracks through the dirt on his cheeks. The Russian brought the pipe down again, this time across Hogan's exposed back, flattening him to the ground. Hogan lay there suffering, barely conscious.

Throwing the pipe away, the Russian sneered, "That is what we think of _heroes_…"

* * *

The two Russians had let him recover enough so he could walk under his own power. Stagger was more like it. They kept him covered with their weapons at all times and Hogan was in enough pain to blindly do as he was told. His left hand was numb now and grotesquely swollen, fingers pointing in directions fingers had no right to go. He kept it elevated, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons on his tunic to slide the misshapen limb inside and use it as a sling. He felt oddly like Napoleon. In comparison, his arm and leg thrummed dully, his arm having already crusted over with a light scab. His leg was still bleeding somewhat, but then again, he was being marched mercilessly through the streets of Berlin. The bleeding was mild and would hopefully flush out the dust which rose and swirled around him with every step.

The trio entered Potsdamer Platz and Hogan could see other captured German soldiers grouped by rank and service under guard. He was directed, as in not so gently pushed, over to the cluster of SS officers. They seemed to be guarded with twice as many Russians as the other groups. He was forced to sit as had the others; however Hogan was grateful for the respite.

He was in trouble and he knew it. He took a second to find the humour in his situation. _Only I could end up a POW of two different factions in the same war._ Laughter threatened to erupt and spill over in a way Hogan couldn't control and he knew shock was setting in. He propped his right elbow on his right knee and rested his head in his hand, closing his eyes briefly as he attempted to hold himself together. After a moment, he raised his head and tried to distract himself by looking at the group of people he was incarcerated with, seeking the face of anyone he recognized. There was nobody in his immediate area from the Führerbunker. He was relieved. He could be in a lot worse trouble if anyone tagged him as being on Hitler's inner staff.

Someone was creeping towards him through the crowd. As the stranger neared, Hogan recognized the insignia he wore as part of the Medical Corps. The man sat beside Hogan.

"You okay, sir?" he asked, giving Hogan the once-over with his eyes, noting the blood on his arm, leg and front of his uniform.

"_W__ü__nderbar_," replied Hogan sarcastically, wondering why medical personnel from every army he was in instantly targeted him.

"I'm a Doktor. May I see, Hauptsturmführer?" said the man, indicating the hand currently hidden within the tunic.

"Knock yourself out," said Hogan, withdrawing the deformed appendage with extreme care.

The doctor gasped as he saw the black, blue, and bloodied swollen hand.

"Not a good sign, doc," said Hogan, his derision rising to the fore as it often did when he was injured. "Need to work on your bedside manner."

The doctor manipulated the hand gently with Hogan hardly feeling a thing. He knew it wasn't a great indication of things being okay.

"The fingers are badly dislocated. They are impeding the blood flow. I need to realign them if you want to have any chance of keeping your hand," said the doctor seriously, looking Hogan straight in the eye.

The thought of losing his hand sobered Hogan immediately. "Do what you can, Herr Doktor," he said with respect.

"This may not hurt at first, however once the blood supply begins flowing again, the pain will increase," explained the doctor patiently.

"Just do it while you have the chance," bit out Hogan gruffly, running his good hand through his hair. "Who knows when our hosts will interrupt our little tea party?"

The Doktor began with Hogan's little finger, manipulating the bones as best he could until the knuckled realigned and the digit was mostly straight. He moved on to the ring finger and did the same, with Hogan grunting a little as he twisted ligaments and bones into position. The thumb was next to Hogan's surprise, assuming the Doktor was going in order. It was then down to the middle and index fingers. The Doktor worked on these two together, setting the end joints first, then the middle ones. The hand was bleeding again as the Doktor disturbed the scabs which had started to form.

At last, the Doktor snapped in the base knuckle of the middle finger into place and Hogan seized in shock as hot pain washed through his entire body. The Doktor gave him a moment to recover and catch his breath, the agony having stolen it for several minutes. Seeing the Doktor wait for permission to continue, Hogan wondered how much worse the next one would be. He tried briefly to mentally prepare himself and nodded to the doc quickly before he chickened out, gritting his teeth in anticipation.

The sound of bone snapping instantly translated to fiery, white hot shards of pain shooting up his hand and into his arm. Hogan screamed in agony, unable to hold it in before falling over and curling into a ball; his vision greying as he rode out waves of hurt. The eyes of every soldier within the area, both German and Soviet, focussed on the officer writhing on the ground. The Doktor gave Hogan time to recover, rubbing his back and offering soft words of encouragement, before he settled down enough to sit up again. Seeing the man was still alive, most onlookers ceased their gawking and went back to what they had been doing.

Hogan looked down at his hand, amazed to see it had returned to a normal shape. He tentatively tried to bend his fingers and found the digits responding sluggishly to his commands. The swelling had diminished somewhat already, and the colouring was a lot less blue. There was still a lot of bruising and it was bleeding quite freely now through the lacerated skin but at least looked like a hand now.

"Danke shoën, Herr Doktor," said Hogan gratefully, his eyes misted as much from the previous round of pain as the relief of being able to move his fingers. "It looks much better. Can't say it feels better, but then again, at least I _can_ feel it now."

"Keep it elevated if you can and try to wiggle the fingers every so often even though it will be painful to do so. Hands are difficult to heal. Many of the bones are broken and you may yet require surgery to help it heal properly. I fear you may never have complete use of it again but it will still be mobile. Ice or cold water would help to reduce the swelling, but those aren't likely to be available any time in the near future. I wish I had something to wrap it in to stop the bleeding and prevent more dirt from entering the wounds. You should get it cleaned out, along with your arm and leg wounds, as soon as you can to avoid infection."

"Well, I don't think those are high on the Russians' priority list at the moment," replied Hogan, replacing the hand inside his tunic, "but we'll see what happens."

The Soviets chose that moment to drop off another group of SS soldiers, adding to their little assembly. The Doktor, noticing one of the new arrivals with blood running through his fingers as he applied pressure to his shoulder, nodded at Hogan in good-bye before moving off to see if there was anything he could do to help the latest wounded member of their little party.

Hogan was tired beyond words. He'd had little sleep the night before, trying to keep moving to leave Berlin behind. The subsequent run-in with the Russians had left him totally spent and the treatment by the doctor had tapped the last of his reserves. Hoping they would remain here undisturbed a while longer, Hogan decided to make the most of waiting and curled up on the hard cobblestones which paved the Platz, using his right arm as a pillow. Exhaustion claimed him within minutes despite the bright sun shining in his eyes.

* * *

German and Soviet eyes weren't the only ones drawn to the soldier yelling in agony in the center of the square. English, French, and American ones were also directed his way from their vantage point in the building fronting Potsdamer Platz.

"That's 'im! I'm positive it's 'im. It's the Colonel!" exclaimed Newkirk. "It just 'as ta be."

LeBeau and Carter stared at the helpless man curled into a ball. The hair was the right colour but it was hard to tell his height from the way he was laying. They had never known their commander to cry out in such a manner; the thought of the intense pain needed to evoke such a response caused their guts to clench and tears to sting their eyes.

They had been keeping watch over the men brought into Potsdamer Platz since first light. Once in a while, SS officers of Hogan's size and colouring would be marched in under guard. They would observe them for a bit, getting a feel for their mannerisms as best they could from above the square. So far, no one brought in by the Russians had 'felt' right, until this last prisoner. The gait as he walked, even limping, was one they recognized and now the voice, while under considerable duress, was of the right timbre.

"I cannot see his face clear enough from here to tell for certain," said LeBeau. "But my heart agrees with you, Pierre. _Mon Colonel_ is injured."

"Wot about you, Andrew? Think 'e's the gov'na?" asked Newkirk when Carter didn't speak up. The Sergeant was staring at the man sleeping in the foetal position on the hard cobblestone paving.

Carter's thoughts were a hundred miles and a few years away, caught up in memories of the early years at Stalag 13. He thought of the gestures and habits he'd seen the Colonel do over the years. The initial scan of the crowd, the typical scowl when approached by the other officer who appeared to be some sort of medic, the hand through the hair; all would appear to point to the man they had spent the last week and a half searching for but still he was hesitant.

Then Carter remembered an incident from last winter. LeBeau had had a large pot of something on the stove. The team had been sitting around the common table, the Colonel at the end with his foot propped against the bench as he so often did when thinking and planning. Carter couldn't recall all the details, but he remembered the chaos breaking out, the scrambling around the table and stove because Hochstetter was on his way across the compound. It was just as the Major burst through the barrack door that one of the men caught handle of the hot pot, sending it tumbling over the side of the stove towards LeBeau who was crouched down hiding documents under the false firewood pile at the end of the table. He would have been terribly scalded by the contents if Colonel Hogan hadn't reached out with his bare hand and caught the falling cookware. The Colonel had shouted in pain while righting the pot, second degree burns welling up instantly on his right hand. LeBeau had lamented not having any butter available to put on the burn. The Colonel had been in so much pain, Newkirk had grabbed the Colonel's wrist and plunged his hand into the sink and ran cold water over it to numb it. Wilson, the camp's medic, had been fetched and bandaged the burned appendage.

The yell when the Colonel had burned his hand had been similar to the one issued by the soldier in the square, but that wasn't what cinched it for Carter. After the burn incident, Wilson had asked the men to watch over the Colonel for discomfort during the night. It was the way the Colonel had curled up to sleep, protecting the injured hand which sold the identity of the SS soldier sleeping below to Carter. The similarity could not be dismissed as coincidence.

"Yeah," Carter answered at last, clearing his throat to get the word out past the lump which had formed. "I'm positive it's the Colonel. It's like a dream. I almost can't believe it."

"Me either, mate," agreed Newkirk, resting a hand on Carter's shoulder. "I'd all but given up on findin' 'im but you kept us goin', Andrew. You didn't let us quit."

"_Oui_, André, Pierre is correct," said LeBeau, standing closer to the pair. "I, too, was starting to think it was a lost cause. I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in us."

"It's okay, Louie, Peter," replied Carter. "I was beginning to think we'd never see him again, too. In fact, if either of you had said 'Let's go home' I would have agreed in an instant."

"Well, good thing we kept that to ourselves then, ain't it?" said Newkirk with a wink to LeBeau.

The men chuckled. It felt good to have something to laugh about at last. The smiles remained as they continued to stare at the sleeping figure below, afraid he would vanish again before their very eyes if they even so much as blinked.

"I'm just happy we've finally found him," started Carter. "He's been harder to find than a needle in a haystack and boy, that's saying something. You know, my aunt was doing some stitching in the barn once and she dropped the needle into the straw covering the barn floor and it just disappeared. She and I were crawling around on all fours, trying to figure out where the darn thing had got to, sifting through…"

"Carter!"

"Yeah?"

"We may have found him, but we still have to rescue him."

"Oh, yeah, right. Maybe we should get onto planning that part, huh?"

* * *

Nudge. Hogan stirred slightly. Nudge. Nudge. Hogan fought his way to consciousness.

"Hauptsturmführer!" The near-whisper was filled with urgency.

Cracking his eyes against the dazzling daylight of noon, the call brought Hogan immediately awake. Forgetting the incident of only hours ago, he tried to sit up, only to feel the wrenching of his back and stomach muscles as an instant reminder. His left hand was still throbbing so he made no mistake in leaning on it. He got upright groggily and began to process his surroundings.

A lieutenant was sitting beside him, watching between Hogan wrestling with alertness and what was happening at the front of their group. Hogan followed his line of sight and saw a cluster of Russians with guns moving towards the captured SS officers, the number of which had grown considerably while he was sleeping.

"You woke me?" Hogan gruffly asked the lieutenant. At his hesitant nod, Hogan grunted, "Danke." Hogan was sure the lieutenant's method of waking was much nicer than the Soviets' would have been. With his good hand, Hogan massaged his neck as he tried to ease his stiffened muscles while waiting to see what was going to happen.

"Stand!" the Russian towering over Hogan ordered harshly. _At least this one said it in German_, thought Hogan.

Hogan struggled to his feet, assisted by one of the goons with a machine gun when he didn't do so fast enough. He was grouped with another fifty or so SS officers and made to form up, then marched out of Potsdamer Platz at a fairly quick pace, leaving behind the rest whose turn would come later. Hogan struggled with his leg injury to march at the pace set by his Soviet captors, other officers near him helping him to keep up. They headed down the road in an easterly direction, the broad avenue opening up to an octagonal area with flat open parkland.

Hogan recognized the area as Leipziger Platz, only a block south of the Reich Chancellery. _Terrific_, thought Hogan. _Two days on the run and I'm back where I started_. The octagon was divided into quarters by roads and each area contained Russians processing various types of German POWs under the watchful eyes of guards, machine guns, and a couple of tanks. _Purely there to flaunt the Soviet victory, I'm sure_, thought Hogan as firing a tank shell into the Platz would cause devastating casualties to both sides. Their group was marched past the sectors handling Heer officers, non-comms, and enlisted to the portion allotted to SS officers.

Finally they were halted and allowed to stand easy while each prisoner in Hogan's group was brought individually under guard before a Russian officer making notations on a clipboard before being sorted into smaller groups.

Hogan watched as those in front of him were escorted over to Clipboard Officer and questioned. He had thought about how he was going to answer the Soviet's inquiries. He couldn't reveal his Allied ties in front of the other SS for fear of repercussions in case he was left amongst them. Hogan wondered if he could get away with providing a false name to hide his undercover identity. Before long, he found himself marched over for processing.

"Tag!" Another brusque order in German, this time from Clipboard Officer. Apparently the Russian German vocabulary was extremely limited.

_So much for lying_, thought Hogan as he was forced to fish his German-issued ID tag out from under his SS tunic.

The Russian copied down his assumed name and rank on his processing forms. He then quickly scanned a list of names on another sheet of paper, finger tracing down each line until it halted two thirds from the bottom. The officer looked up with a gleam in his eye and Hogan knew his worst fears had been realized.

"Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss, Adjutant to the Führer," he announced loudly in satisfaction with a twisted grin on his face as if he'd just won first prize at the fishing derby for landing the biggest catch of the day.

Hogan tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry as sawdust. He caught the reaction of the nearest SS senior officers grouped behind the Soviet with the clipboard, their eyes widening as they came to realize the prominence of the non-descript captain with the injured hand whom they had previously ignored as an underling not worthy of their attention. He could hear the whispers rush through the ranks and saw those in the rear peering around those in front to spot a glimpse of him. Hogan subconsciously drew himself up straighter and returned their undisguised gawking. He could feel similar stares burning his back from the troops behind him waiting to be processed.

Words were exchanged between the Russian soldiers, with one rushing off, probably to fetch a higher-ranked officer to handle their newly discovered prestigious prisoner. A man with a chest full of medals returned with the Gopher Soldier and a discussion was held between himself and Clipboard Officer. Every once in a while Medal Man would glance sideways at Hogan, sizing him up. Hogan stood there and patiently waited, hopeful now he had a senior officer close at hand. He knew he needed to speak one-on-one with Medal Man out of earshot of the other Germans so he could identify himself as an Allied officer, and he began to fathom a plan to accomplish that.

"Naden'tye naruchniki na nevo," ordered Medal Man suddenly.

Hogan didn't understand what the command meant when it was said, but he was quick to comprehend when one of the machine gun soldiers forced his arms behind him and he felt the cold metal clamp around his wrists. Pain radiated from his mangled hand as the guards were less than gentle when manipulating his injured limb. Medal Man turned to Hogan and spoke in perfect German.

"Adjutant to the Führer. It is too bad, Hauptsturmführer Strauss, that you earned such a prominent position. I am afraid such a prestigious job now comes with a rather hefty penalty. You will be executed at sundown as per Russian policy. No exceptions," he announced. Reverting to Russian, he ordered the guards, "Prinesitye yemu."

As Hogan was led away without being able to say a word in his defence, he saw some of the senior SS officers snap to attention and salute, having heard the death sentence declared by the Soviet. Touched by the sign of respect from the unknown officers, Hogan could only offer a nod in acknowledgement as he was led away to face the fate of his so-called 'loyalty' to 'his' Führer.

* * *

Hogan was marched through Leipziger Platz with his two guard escort, headed by Medal Man, and back to Potsdamer Platz. The Russian officer seemed to know exactly where he was going, but Hogan had no chance to speak to him as he strode out in front of their group. They passed more heaps of rubble and burnt out buildings. Hogan stumbled a little as his boot caught in the uneven ground, remnants of the fighting. Piles of metal from destroyed military vehicles sat abandoned on the side of the square. A bicycle with bent tires sat perched atop a mass of building debris, blocking the sidewalk. The utter destruction was a little surreal.

They headed to an intact block of businesses on one of the side streets off Potsdamer Platz. They went inside and moved to the back of the store, finally halting before a door in the rear. The Soviet made a show of flaunting the key and unlocking the door to reveal a small, windowless storeroom. As his escort went to remove his cuffs before locking him in the make-shift cell, Hogan realized this would be his only chance to plead his case to Medal Man with no Germans around.

"Sir, I must speak with you privately," said Hogan, addressing Medal Man. The Russian considered for a moment before he waved off his guard escorts. They moved out of earshot but ready to respond if the German tried to harm their superior in any way.

"If you intend to beg for mercy, I am afraid it will not work," warned the officer.

"No, this is much more important. Erlich Strauss is an undercover alias I assumed to get close to the Führer. My real name is Robert Hogan and I'm an American Air Corps Colonel," explained Hogan intensely.

"I'm to believe you're an American?" asked Medal Man incredulously and followed it with a laugh.

"Yes! My serial number is O-876707. We're Allies and I need your help. I have to get out of Berlin," added Hogan urgently, pleading his case.

"Ha! This is a good story! Even better than cowardly begging for your life!" Medal Man was grinning and trying to control the urge to laugh out loud once more.

"It's true," Hogan insisted. "Check with your superiors. Check with your own Intelligence Bureau. Marya, one of your agents, knows me. She can confirm my true identity if you won't trust the British." Hogan was getting desperate to convince the Russian to do more than just lock him in a cell and shoot him at dawn.

"Marya? The White Russian?" The officer snorted. "Ha! Everyone knows of her! That is no proof. But you obviously don't know her as well as you say you do. She disappeared a few months ago and hasn't been heard of since. She's listed as MIA."

Hogan felt his hopes plummet at the Soviet's words. He'd thought it had been awfully quiet around Stalag 13 in the last couple of months. _LeBeau will be devastated when he finds out_, he thought.

"Now as for your guilt," the Russian continued, "Erlich Strauss signed many orders while he was the Führer's Adjutant. Do you deny doing this?"

"No. It was my job to authorize the release of many orders. If I didn't, I would have compromised my cover," replied Hogan, focussing once more on the Soviet.

"Do you know how many of those orders impacted Russian troops?" asked the officer, beginning to get a little hot under the collar.

"No, I didn't keep track. I managed to successfully change some of the orders to the detriment of the Germans without getting caught." Hogan stood his ground.

"And how many of those changed orders helped your Soviet 'Allies' as opposed to your American and British ones?" questioned Medal Man.

"I don't know," replied Hogan honestly. "I didn't consider who I was directly aiding, just as long as it _didn't_ help the Germans…"

"And do you deny," broke in the Soviet irately, "that you came into favour with Hitler when you suggested modifications to his battle plans at the Oder?"

"How do you know about all this anyway? There were no Russians at the Reich Chancellery!" Hogan was becoming angry as well at the officer's accusations.

"I'll admit we had spies there," replied the Soviet smugly. "You think Americans and British were the only ones capable of infiltrating the German High Command? That's a little arrogant even for an American. You were there for four weeks. You had plenty of opportunities to kill Hitler."

"Those weren't my orders!" snapped Hogan. "It would have been suicide to try anyway."

"And that would have been too great a sacrifice for you?" asked the Russian disdainfully. "What were your orders then?" the officer snapped back.

"To infiltrate the Reich Chancellery; to cause as much confusion and devastation to the Germans as I could get away with; and to get close to Hitler to capture him and bring him back for trial – alive," ground out Hogan.

"It seems you failed in your mission then. The partially burned body of the Devil Incarnate was found in the Chancellery garden yesterday," gloated the Russian.

"I knew he was dead two days ago – I was there!" declared Hogan, dismissing the Soviet's attempts to needle him at his failure. "At the very least, I was to ensure he did not escape to continue his reign of terror, which I did." Hogan paused to regroup his thoughts. "If you had spies on the inside, why didn't _they_ send Old Scrambled Brains to meet his maker?" questioned Hogan, hoping to turn the tables on his interrogator.

"They were not close enough, not like _you_. They only observed from afar, never meeting Hitler face to face. But no matter," the Russian turned angry again, "The losses on the Oder were all your doing!"

"Then how do you know what they reported about me was truly accurate?" challenged Hogan. "If they were so 'far away' as not to be able to assassinate the Führer, they could have heard information second, third, even fourth hand and had it degrade from what really happened!" Hogan said in exasperation. Nothing he was saying was changing the Russian's mind. His head began to throb in tempo with his hand.

"And yet you still call him 'Führer' – interesting, is it not? A Freudian slip, perhaps?" mused the officer. "It makes no difference – it was still you who suggested the plain be flooded, which cost the Russians dearly!"

"I was backed into a corner and I had to maintain cover at all costs. Hitler wanted my opinion on their plan and I accidentally said it was missing something. Not one of my better moments perhaps, but it served to solidify my involvement with him and allowed me to remain close to him until the end," said Hogan, tiring of the verbal sparing, his injury wearing him down more than he would admit.

"An accident? An accident! Do you know how many hundreds of Soviet tanks were lost in that campaign? How many thousands of Russian soldiers were killed thanks to your 'helpful' suggestion to flood the plain? You further yourself on the expense of _my_ _men_ and now you want to call us Allies and ask for _help_? _You don't_ _deserve_ _ANY HELP!_"

The officer's voice grew in volume as he ranted, ending with a roar which rattled Hogan's eardrums. With each question he asked, the Russian moved a step forward, getting into Hogan's personal space. Hogan was trying not to back down in the face of his anger but was slowly being forced to retreat, weakened from two days of running, lack of sleep, little food, and serious injury. He realized too late the Soviet had managed to back him into the empty storeroom. The slamming of the door seemed to bang like a judge's gavel, meting out his guilty sentence.

Hogan sighed as he heard the key snick in the lock. He had no idea if the officer would follow through on confirming his true identity. His sweet-talking golden tongue must be getting rusty having no practice manipulating Klink in the last month.

Hogan stood there in the pitch dark and considered the Soviet's words, wondering if the officer's accusations had any foundation in truth, even subconsciously. _Were my decisions solely for the benefit of my own countrymen and not __all__ our Allies?_ Hogan didn't think so. As his eyes adjusted, he could eventually make out a faint line under the door but not enough to see anything by. He paced for a bit and mulled over his actions in the Chancellery, trying to think of anything more he could have done to aid his Russian Allies without compromising his position.

His hand was aching terribly and the fingers were stiff and hard to move, the brief time in the handcuffs not helping at all. He examined it by touch alone, unable to make out a single thing in the murky gloom. He thought the swelling had increased again thanks to the hand not being kept elevated. His pinkie and ring finger hardly moved at all when he tried to make the fingers curl and the smallest digit was a little numb again. At least the thumb, pointer, and middle fingers still seemed to respond to his commands, albeit rather slowly. Hogan stuck his hand back in his tunic. It was useless to dwell on if he would suffer any permanent loss of movement, first he had to survive to have it heal. Finally he felt his way to the back of the storage area and slid down the wall to await word of his fate at sundown. He couldn't believe he was facing execution for the second time in a month.

* * *

The team was in the midst of figuring out how to retrieve the Colonel when he was suddenly dragged into formation and marched out of the Platz. Pure panic at losing him again washed over the trio and one thing became perfectly clear: they would need Russian uniforms immediately. Everything they had come up with so far centered around being able to move freely amongst the Soviets.

Despite desperately wanting to go, Carter finally opted to stay at their hideout and watch to see if the Colonel returned. Newkirk was their best fighter and scrounger so he was a natural to go. LeBeau had the added benefit of speaking French if they were stopped by someone along the way. Someone had to remain behind and with his blond hair and blue eyes, Carter could easily be mistaken for an Aryan, a complication they didn't need.

Carter paced in front of the window, finding it impossible to sit still while on his own. Minutes passed, then twenty; three quarters of an hour followed by an hour and a half. Still no Colonel. Still no team.

After two hours of watching the square and seeing more and more groups of German prisoners lined up and marched away, an unusual movement caught his attention. On the far side of the Platz, a group of Russians were escorting a single SS soldier. The prisoner's hands were cuffed behind his back and Carter could tell by the way he walked it was his Colonel being brought back.

Carter was ecstatic they hadn't lost him again. He watched carefully for where they were moving him to this time, determined to be able to tell Newkirk and LeBeau exactly where the Colonel was when they returned.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to Bits and Pieces for the Russian translation:

Встаньте! – Vstan'tye! – Stand up!

Вы говорите по-русски? – Vy govoritye po-russki? – Do you speak Russian?

Наденьте наручники на него. – Naden'tye naruchniki na nevo. – Handcuff him. (Literally, put handcuffs on him.)

Принесите ему. – Prinesitye yemu. – Bring him.

Sigmund Freud was an Austrian who did ground-breaking work in psychoanalysis around the turn of the 20th century. He died in September of 1939.

The common household treatment for burns was to apply oil, such as butter to the affected area. However, medical research has proven this only served to keep the heat in the skin and cause worse injury. First aid treatment for burns nowadays is to immediately chill the burn with cool water to prevent deeper tissue damage.

There are some pictures of the damage done to Potsdamer Platz on Wikipedia if anyone is interested. Potsdamer Platz claims to be the first place in the world to install electric traffic signals in 1882. One of the more prominent buildings is Columbushaus, which was an ultra-modern office complex of 1960s style architecture but built in the early 1930s. It was quite central to Nazi Germany and held a secret Gestapo prison complete with interrogation and torture rooms on the upper floors.


	38. Chapter 38: May 2, part 2

May 2, 1945

Hogan spent the entire afternoon in the dark, waiting. He tried to sleep at one point but he was uncertain on how successful he had been. It seemed a shame to waste his last moments on Earth sleeping so mostly he sat and thought, getting more depressed as the hours wore on.

He had no concept of time, with no window to tell when sundown was approaching and with it, his increasingly probable demise. Hogan had resigned himself sometime during the long hours to not surviving. It was becoming apparent the Russian officer had not contacted anyone to verify his claims. No one had brought him any food – why waste limited precious resources on a condemned man? His stomach was still painfully empty, and the sardines were not sitting well. Hogan let out a manic chuckle in the darkness. He would never have guessed his last meal would be one of the few foods he despised.

Hogan's mood was as dark as the room he was being held in. At least the last time he faced execution, it was for being who he truly was: Colonel Robert Hogan aka Papa Bear. His death would have had meaning in protecting his men on Hochstetter's word of honour. Now this death, it was senseless. Not quite a case of mistaken identity, for indeed he had portrayed Erlich Strauss, but he would not die for his country, for freedom, for saving another or any honourable deaths he could imagine or had come close to fulfilling. No, this death grated on his soul. A death for crimes he didn't commit in the name of a man he didn't believe in. A man he tried to stop, to thwart at every turn; a man he was happy was dead despite his orders to the contrary. A death due to his assumed job title.

Hogan had never been good at waiting and this forced incarceration was eating away at his patience. He had always been a man of action, eager to be the first plane in the sky, leading the way. The Operation had taught him persistence and endurance, the timing for everything to come together to carry off a job successfully crucial. Whenever the waiting got too much, he paced; the darkness of his little room left it impossible to do so. He was at the point where he wanted to bang on the door and demand Medal Man shoot him now and get it over with, put him out of his misery.

Eventually, Hogan reflected on all the times he had come close to dying in the war. He had never been as scared as he was at this moment. Whether that was because of his weakened condition or the fact his emotions were frayed to the breaking point long before reaching his current state, he wasn't sure. He thought perhaps it was because he was alone. All the other times he had his men at his back, whether it was his bomber crew or the gang from Stalag 13, he had men around him he was as fiercely loyal to as they were to him. He had the responsibility to protect them, save them if he could and on his own, he couldn't even save himself. His eyes prickled as they welled up, the tears defying gravity and remaining unshed.

His thoughts turned closer to home. At least his family already believed he was deceased and were already moving on with their lives. Hogan doubted they would ever be told of the top secret mission he undertook to preserve their freedom and put an end to Hitler's tyrannical regime. They would be spared being told a second time he was dead; in fact, Hogan suspected no one would ever discover what happened to him in the end. He would likely end up on some Top Secret – Missing in Action, Presumed Dead list kept at the Pentagon because his body would likely never be found or properly identified. His family would have closure from the original setup, but his men who knew the truth – Carter, LeBeau, Newkirk, Baker – they would never know the misfortune which befell their former commander. He hoped they would be able to move on after the war and not obsess over discovering his fate. How he wished he could see them one more time.

Gravity won and two hot tears tracked down Hogan's grimy cheeks in the darkness. He wondered if he would be hanged instead of shot. It would be more appropriate as he certainly felt at the end of his rope, psychologically at least.

The jingle of keys outside the door, followed by the snicking of the lock as it was turned broke Hogan out of his morose musings. _Time then_, thought Hogan as he wiped his dirt smudged face with his good hand, clearing away any evidence of his emotional weakness_._ The filtered light from outside was harsh on Hogan's eyes after the extended period in the complete dark. His eyes watered fiercely again, this time from a physical not emotional response, blurring the men who had come for him into vague shadowy shapes against a bright background.

"Out!" came the order in German.

Hogan recognized the voice as belonging to Medal Man and his heart sank into the pit of his empty stomach, which roiled and churned with acid. He attempted to get to his feet on his own but ended up being helped by two of the guards; the one unable to suppress a gasp at the sight of Hogan's mangled hand when he snapped the cuffs on. A third guard waited outside with the officer. _Kind of short for a Soviet_; the random thought struck Hogan out of the blue and almost caused him to chuckle as the man's stature reminded him of LeBeau. _If only…_

"What? No last meal?" quipped Hogan, squinting even more as he was guided out of his makeshift cell and into the waning evening light. "Can't say you'll get a very good review from the Auto Club; no room service and the beds are atrociously hard. The view left much to be desired…"

"Enough!" roared the Russian. The guards ducked their heads as they attempted to hide their smiles. They should not have understood what was being said.

"Does it bother you in the least that you're putting an innocent man to death?" said Hogan as he came nose to nose with the Soviet in one last desperate bid to get the man to change his mind. He would not go down without a fight.

"You were the Adjutant to the Führer; there is nothing innocent in that. I will admit you have a gifted tongue; I almost believed your story but for one tiny little fault. Do you wish to know what it was?" Medal Man was almost purring.

"I'm dying to find out," replied Hogan sarcastically.

The Russian leaned forward to whisper in his ear as if he was divulging the secrets of the universe. "Colonel Robert Hogan was executed by the Gestapo at the beginning of April."

_Oh, God_, thought Hogan, closing his eyes and almost groaning out loud. _The cover story that was supposed to save my life is going to end up being the death of me._ He looked the Russian straight in the eye. "I know – I was there. It wasn't pleasant, _believe_ me. Worst Easter I've ever had," replied Hogan seriously.

"Ah, but it wasn't Easter," argued the officer. "Your Easter I believe fell on April 1 this year, correct?"

"Yes. So?"

"According to the reports filed by a Luftwaffe Colonel named Klink I believe, Colonel Robert Hogan was executed on April 4th, the day _after_ you started at the Reich Chancellery. Tell me, how could you be in two places at once, Strauss?"

Hogan felt the blood drain from his face and then rush back with a fury. Oh how he wanted to wipe the smug grin off the Russians face. _Klink! Trust him to file the date of my execution wrong and sign my death warrant along with it!_ Hogan felt the guards tense beside him, but they had nothing to fear as he could do little to retaliate with his hands cuffed behind him. Hogan knew now he would never be able to convince the Soviet of the real truth. He had made his last play and lost. He was so tired and emotionally spent, giving in to the inevitable was surprisingly easy in the end. There was one last decision he could control, however. He would not run and be shot in the back as a coward. He had faced the executioners' guns before and would do so again, meeting death head-on.

The guards watched as the prisoner's shoulders sagged with defeat. The look of finality which crossed his face pulled at their heart strings. It was time to act.

* * *

Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau headed across Potsdamer Platz towards the building where they had seen the Soviets take Colonel Hogan in the afternoon. It was just before sunset, the yellow-orange light mixing with spectacular pinks and purples, heralding oncoming night sky. Dressed in Russian uniforms and armed with machine guns, they hoped to free their lost commander and disappear into the backstreets of Berlin as it got dark.

The team had wanted to retrieve the Colonel as soon as they had returned from their successful scrounging excursion and discovered Carter knew where he was located. They concluded he was imprisoned somewhere in the building he had been escorted to, but after watching the Platz for awhile, the team believed there were too many patrols to make the escape feasible. Now, the timing was right as the regular troops were retiring for the night and off duty.

The trio had almost made it to the building when a sharp command was issued behind them. They tried to ignore the order, hoping it was not directed at them but had to stop when the command came again.

"Ostanovityes'!"

Turning around, they found a sharply dressed Russian officer with a chest full of ribbons and decorations. One man was good; they could take out one man with little fuss. The rest of the square was fairly empty, all the captured Germans having been processed, with only the last remaining Russian stragglers moving off for their evening meal. Few witnesses, even better.

Medal Man began speaking to the trio in Russian. The guys had no idea what he was talking about. From his gestures, it appeared he wanted them to follow him. The officer headed toward the building where Colonel Hogan was being detained. Sharing silent looks and a shrug, Carter, LeBeau, and Newkirk fell in behind the Soviet.

The officer took them directly to the rear of the structure to an unmarked door. He fished a key ring out of his pocket, the many keys jingling as he unlocked the door and swung it wide.

"Out!" barked the Soviet in German, which surprised the group from Stalag 13.

Looking inside the small room, they were both dismayed and overjoyed to find their lost Colonel. Ecstatic their long search was finally over, appalled at his condition. The person inside the tiny room bore little resemblance to the strong, healthy leader who had left Stalag 13 four weeks ago. The man on the floor was filthy; his greasy hair was matted and unkempt, sunken face mottled with bruises and streaked with dirt above a few days growth of beard. The remains of the SS uniform he wore were soiled and tattered, showing blood stains below tears on his arm and leg. One hand was stuffed between his tunic buttons.

When Hogan failed to rise at the Russian's order, the Soviet held out a set of handcuffs and indicated two of the guards should go in and retrieve him. Thinking fast, Newkirk and Carter entered the make-shift cell and helped their commander to his feet. Hoping to play this out as a group of guards escorting a prisoner, Carter loosely cuffed Hogan's arms behind his back, knowing the Colonel would forgive him later for keeping up appearances once they were safe. He couldn't contain a gasp however as he saw what had been done to the Colonel's left hand.

Guiding their Colonel out of the storeroom, they were surprised at the strength remaining in his voice when he suddenly said, "What? No last meal?" When he continued with the smart-assed comments about the Auto Club review, his men breathed a mental sigh of relief. Their Colonel had not been broken despite his less than stellar condition.

The trio listened, silently aghast at the exchange between the two officers, coming to realize they were here in the role of executioner for their commander. If they had been delayed any longer, they would have been too late to save their Colonel.

It became apparent the Colonel had been trying to convince the Soviet of his true identity, which the Russian did not believe. When the Russian announced it was Klink who had completed the Red Cross forms in error, the team could not help tensing with suppressed anger. If they were not there, the Colonel would be left to face death on his own. The look of defeat on his face as he realized there was nothing more he could do to save himself was more than the team could bear. It was time to act.

* * *

Hogan's eyes had nearly adjusted to the brightness outside the storeroom but he wasn't prepared for what he saw. As he turned from confronting Medal Man to be led away, the faces of his Soviet guards morphed into Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau. _Must be delirious_, he thought. Blinking rapidly to try to clear the illusion, he began to think his imagination was running away from him, conjuring up his friends to console himself in his last minutes. It was at that moment his make-believe former team did something to prove this wasn't any fantasy: the three men cocked their guns and aimed them at Medal Man.

"Chto sluchaetsya zdes'?" demanded the Russian officer. Not receiving an answer, he tried again in German, "What is happening here?"

"Colonel, you okay?" asked Carter in English, ignoring the Soviet's question even though he understood it but not taking his eyes off the officer.

Newkirk grabbed the key ring off of Medal Man and undid Hogan's handcuffs, seeing what had made Carter gasp in the cell and vowing to himself he'd make somebody pay for hurting his gov'na. He walked over to their Russian prisoner and snapped them around his wrists, binding his arms behind his back and forcing him to sit on the ground.

The prisoner secured, Carter came over to his Colonel just in time to catch Hogan's one side as he slumped; a wave of relief washing over him, blanking his senses. Newkirk stepped over quickly and latched onto the other arm to catch him before he fell, being careful of the bloody tear where the Colonel had been grazed by a bullet. LeBeau stood back and watched, concerned but still covering their prisoner.

"Is it really you?" whispered Hogan in amazement, awed by the sudden appearance of his friends in his darkest hour of need.

"_Oui, mon Colonel_. We are truly here. We've come to bring you home," said LeBeau, eyes sparkling with happiness.

Hogan was overwhelmed; he couldn't believe his eyes. Never in a million years would he have dreamt his team, his friends, would come for him. They had not abandoned him; they had saved his life. Overcome with intense emotion, his eyes leaked fresh tears as he reached out and crushed each of his men in a bear hug, the need to prove their existence by physically touching them overpowering.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice cracking. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

* * *

The effort to reign in their emotions was unexpectedly difficult, and the team found it hard to let go of their commander, almost afraid he would disappear again if they didn't keep holding on. Hogan felt the same way, reluctant to let go of the lifeline he'd been handed by some divine miracle. He regained some of his strength just by the physical presence of his former team, a heady surge of adrenalin giving a bounce to his step and glint to his eye which were missing only moments before.

Feelings once more in check, the reunited team turned to deal with their prisoner. They were bursting with questions about where their Colonel had been, what he had done, but they minded their tongues until a more appropriate time. They had a long journey ahead of them yet and more pressing things to deal with first.

Noticing his captors were now paying attention to him, Medal Man once more tried to get some answers.

"What's going on here? Who are these men?"

"This is my team," said Hogan proudly. "They've come to save you from making a terrible mistake and to take me back to our home base."

"You are home! You're stationed in Berlin!" said Medal Man.

"No. _Erlich Strauss_ was stationed in Berlin. _Robert Hogan_ is stationed at Stalag 13, near Hammelburg," replied Hogan. "I told you who I was and why I was here. You chose not to believe it.

"This is Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter, United States Army Air Corps," continued Hogan, introducing his team to the Soviet.

"Privyet!" said Carter, showing off his foundling knowledge of Russian. At Hogan's double-take, he quickly back-tracked and said, "Pleased to meet ya!"

"This is Corporal Louis LeBeau, Free French Forces," said Hogan, indicating the smallest member of the group.

"_Bonjour! Comment __ç__a va?_" asked LeBeau. When Hogan frowned, he shrugged and added, "What? It is polite to ask 'how are you?' when you meet someone new."

Hogan rolled his eyes. _He had missed this?_ Yes, more than he would ever have believed if he'd been asked six weeks ago.

"And lastly, Corporal Peter Newkirk, Royal Air Force," concluded Hogan with a sigh.

"Blimey, why'm I always last, gov'na?" complained Newkirk.

"Newkirk…" said Hogan scowling, with just the right amount of threat underlining the name.

"Fine, fine. 'ello," said Newkirk sullenly.

"You really are this American, Hogan, aren't you?" asked the Russian.

"Sure hope so, or my mother's going to get a shock when I get home," said Hogan with a smile. When he realized what he had said, a shadow passed over his features and the grin faltered. The Soviet didn't notice, but the team did.

"I don't understand. The report I was given said this Colonel Klink filed your death notification for April 4th," continued the officer.

"Well, the Kommandant isn't the brightest crayon in the box," said Hogan. "He probably read the form wrong and put the date in the incorrect spot. It's hard to find good enemies these days," continued Hogan wistfully.

"Uh, Colonel?" interrupted Carter.

"Yes, Carter, what is it?" asked Hogan, patiently.

"I think perhaps we should uncuff our prisoner and maybe get you some medical help and some food, if you two are all done making nice," suggested Carter. "We need to either make arrangements to bed down for the night or get a move on. We've lost almost all our daylight."

Hogan stared at his Sergeant. He had been expecting some long-winded story which had nothing to do with the current situation. What he got was a command decision veiled as a suggestion to a superior officer. The shock at the difference was almost enough to knock Hogan on his backside. When he had left, he had had every intention of leaving Newkirk in charge of the Operation, but then Klink had put Carter in the SPO position. Hogan had gone with his gut when it said to let Carter take charge instead. One person in command of all aspects was usually better than dividing it up, especially when it overlapped like the unique situation at Stalag 13. Carter had the rank; he needed to prove why, to his team mates and to himself. Hogan suddenly suspected Carter had done a lot of growing up in the few weeks he was away. It would be fascinating to see what other changes he would notice in his team. Being injured, it would be easy to sit back and let Carter run most of the show. Hogan was interested in seeing what he would do.

"Good suggestion, Carter," said Hogan approvingly. He motioned to Newkirk to undo the cuffs and help the Russian officer to his feet.

"Polkovnik Piotr Petrenkov," said the officer, offering a hand to Hogan. "That would be equivalent to Colonel in your ranks."

"Colonel Robert Hogan," followed Hogan formally, accepting the handshake. "Mind if I call you 'Colonel' then? My German is good; my Russian, not so much," he said with a chuckle.

"Da, I do not mind," he said with a smile. "Now, let us go to the command center, get some dinner and have someone look at that hand of yours. How did you injure it? It looks like it was crushed." The Russian started to head out of the building with Hogan at his side, the others falling in behind.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this early in our friendship," said Hogan, evading the question. "You won't like the answer."

"Hmm…I would guess a Russian did the damage then, based on your reaction," hypothesized Petrenkov. "Tell me anyway."

Hogan sighed. He could tell his team was listening avidly, waiting on baited breath for an answer. _Might as well tell now than later_, he thought as they walked. "I was trying to avoid Russian patrols and get out of the city. I came across a group of three of your soldiers who had captured a young German woman. I wasn't going interfere until she began to plead for mercy. A fourth soldier had joined them and had ripped open her clothes. I couldn't stand by while she was assaulted. I shot two of the soldiers. The woman got away. The other two soldiers captured me. I don't think they liked me too much because the one soldier crushed my hand with an iron pipe as punishment for intervening."

"An unfortunate tale, Colonel," replied Petrenkov. "And one I am afraid I have heard too often already. We try to control the men, but…" He paused. "You have my apologies, for what they are worth. We will do what we can to get your injuries fixed up, some food and a safe place to sleep tonight – with lights."

"That would be…very much appreciated."

* * *

True to his word, Petrenkov looked after Hogan and his men. They left the Colonel with the medical staff while they went and had dinner. Hogan would join them after, figuring he didn't want medical treatment on a full stomach, especially when he hadn't eaten in a couple of days and he wasn't sure how well anything was going to sit.

The medical team gave Hogan an examination from head to foot. His bullet grazes were cleaned and bandaged. They would probably leave faint scars, but were well on their way to healing. His hand was also examined and cleaned. A few of the bones had shifted again with all the mistreatment, so they were realigned. Splinting it was going to be difficult with the lacerations on both sides of the appendage. The doctor stitched a lot of the skin back together, hiding the tendons and bones which had played hide and seek through the torn membrane. In the end, he wrapped the entire hand in gauze and then used some medical tape to attach some splinting material loosely to the fingers, which allowed the hand to breathe but still offer support. A proper sling was added to Hogan's attire, keeping the limb elevated to reduce swelling.

The doctor forced Hogan to lie down after his treatment despite Hogan's protests, knowing what a gruelling process the soldier had just been through. As the doctor had suspected, Hogan quickly drifted off to sleep.

Waking up after a forty-five minute power nap, Hogan chastised himself for succumbing to his body's demands for recuperation, knowing his team was waiting for him at whatever passed for a Mess around here. Sitting up, he was surprised to find he wasn't dizzy, so quickly slipped off the stretcher and left the medical area, completely forgetting he was still in his SS uniform and wandering around the Russian camp. It wasn't long before he found himself at the wrong end of a Soviet machine gun with an unhappy Russian on the other end.

* * *

"The Colonel sure has been gone a long time," said Carter, looking at his watch. The team had finished dinner at least half an hour ago and still they were waiting for their commander to join them. "Do you think he was more injured then he let on?"

"_C'est possible_," replied LeBeau, shrugging. "You know how the Colonel is about getting medical help."

"Well I've 'ad just about enough of sittin' 'round 'ere waitin'," declared Newkirk. "I say we go for a walk and see if we can't find 'im. The man's 'arder to keep track of than an ant at a flea circus."

The team left the Mess tent and headed towards the area set up as a medical facility. They were about half way there when they found Colonel Hogan being held at gun point by a Russian soldier.

"Colonel!" exclaimed Carter.

"Hi fellas! Good timing. I seem to have run into a little bit of a difficulty here…" said Hogan, smiling calmly with his good hand in the air, the other still in its sling.

"Just don't make any sudden moves, Colonel," said Carter. "LeBeau, go find Colonel Petrenkov."

"Right away, _mon ami_," replied the Frenchman, dashing off to the command area.

"Blimey, you do 'ave a way of getting' inta trouble, don't cha gov?" commented Newkirk.

"What can I say? I'm a natural," replied Hogan, shrugging nonchalantly. The Russian seemed to get tense at Hogan's gesture and repositioned his machine gun.

"Nyet!" cried Carter, alarmed at the Soviet's action. "Nyet shooting. Nyet bang bang." Carter was shaking his head no and making a gun shape with his hand. The Russian stared at Carter as if he was crazy. "Comrades." Now Carter's gestures indicated all four men, then he clasped his hands together. "Comrades. Da?"

"Carter, what are you doing?" asked Hogan out of the side of his mouth.

"Keeping you from getting shot, I hope," replied Carter. Just then, LeBeau ran up with Colonel Petrenkov hot on his heels. The Soviet Colonel quickly diffused the situation, explaining in rapid Russian what the situation was and that these men were his guests for the night. The soldier lowered his weapon and put the safety back on, and Hogan lowered his arm with a large grin of relief painted on his face.

"Thanks, Colonel. I appreciate the swift rescue," said Hogan, honestly. "Glad to see your guards on the ball."

"I'm just happy you didn't run into one of our more trigger-happy soldiers. Maybe you'll learn not to wander around unescorted from now on, da?" said Petrenkov, slapping Hogan warmly on the shoulder as he chuckled. "Here. For all of you. Passes to wear so this will not happen again. Is not good for Allied relations," he said with a wink. "We should get you a proper set of clothes to wear but we are a little short in that department."

"That's okay, Colonel, sir," said Carter, accepting his badge and putting it on. "We have a spare civilian shirt in our gear which should do Colonel Hogan for now."

"Good. Now if everything is settled, I still have untold piles of paperwork waiting for me. Good night."

"Good night, Colonel, and thanks again," said Hogan to Petrenkov's retreating back.

"Spasibo," whispered Carter to Hogan.

"Uh, bless you?"

"No, Colonel. _Spasibo_. That's how you say 'Thank you' in Russian," said Carter matter of factly.

"Carter, what's with you and all this Russian all of a sudden? Where'd you pick that up?" asked Hogan, genuinely intregued.

"Oh, well Igor gave me a refresher course on the way to Berlin."

"Igor?"

"Yeah, you remember Igor – Lieutenant Piotkin? Was shot down near camp and we got him back to Russia by sending him to the Russian Front as a German? He helped us get to Berlin to find you."

Hogan stared at his Tech Sergeant for a moment. "Something tells me you guys have quite a story to tell."

"_Oui, mon Colonel,_ and I'm sure it isn't half as interesting as _your_ story," said LeBeau eagerly.

Hogan hesitated. There was a lot of his story he didn't want to tell – didn't want to remember, but he knew he always would. He would share some of it, in time. Perhaps when he'd had a chance to process it himself and he wasn't feeling so raw and vulnerable. The team picked up on his wariness.

"It's okay, Colonel. We can wait," said Carter. "Let's see about getting you some food, huh?"

"Yeah, that would be good Carter," said Hogan with a sigh, releasing the tension which had unknowingly crept into his shoulders. It had been a harrowing few days.

"Just one thing gov'na: we've managed to save your life twice now in three short 'ours. 'ow the bloody 'eck did you manage to survive without us?" asked Newkirk as the team fell in around Hogan to escort him to the Mess.

"I don't know, Newkirk," Hogan replied with a smile. "I just don't know..."

* * *

Wolfgang Hochstetter, former Lieutenant Colonel of the Gestapo, approached the outskirts of the town with caution. He was surprised he had made it this far. Fleeing on foot from Berlin two days ago, he had managed to get through the Soviet lines by the skin of his teeth. Now exhausted and hungry, his broken arm still in its cast, his meagre food supply long gone, he was hoping to find food and shelter for a few nights.

Magdeburg. The sign at the urban limits seemed to welcome him jovially and he had a vague feeling there was something promising about this town. Something or someone was waiting for him…

* * *

A/N: Once more, I'd like to thank Bits and Pieces for the assistance with Russian:

Остановитесь! – Ostanovityes'! – Halt!

Что случается здесь? – Chto sluchaetsya zdes'? – What's happening here?

Привет! – Privyet! – Hello/Hi

Da - Yes

Nyet - No

On the night of May 2, 1945, the Hotel Adlon burned down after a fire was started by carousing Soviet soldiers in the hotel's wine cellar. It was the only harm done to the hotel during the war as it had avoided any bombing damage. Parts of the Hotel were used as a military field hospital in the final days of the Battle of Berlin; however I left it as abandoned for use by the team.


	39. Chapter 39: May 3

May 3, 1945

"Colonel Hogan? You awake yet?"

Carter's voice broke through the hazy feeling wrapped around Hogan's brain as he lay dozing on the cot set up in one of the buildings surrounding Potsdamer Platz. The team had kept Hogan company last night as he ate some watered down soup in the Mess. They joked and kidded, trading banter back and forth, feelings light and care-free for the first time in a long, long while. Nothing was mentioned of what had happened to either party over the last month by unspoken agreement on both sides. Just a general feeling of camaraderie and happiness at long-lost friends being reunited once more.

Hogan stirred, reaching wakefulness. It was the first decent amount of sleep he had had in over a week and he was loath to leave it behind. _Hmm…'Colonel Hogan' – has a nice ring to it_, he thought contentedly. _Considering at one point I never thought anyone would call me that ever again._ He blinked the sleep away. "Yeah, Carter, I'm here. What's up?" he asked wearily, rubbing his eyes.

Hogan sat up on his cot as his Sergeant entered the sleeping area.

"Gee, Colonel, you've slept most of the morning away. You feeling okay?" asked Carter, concern showing plainly on his face.

"First full night's sleep I've had in at least a week, Carter. Just recouping that's all," said Hogan, dismissing his Second's concerns with a wave of his hand. _That's odd_, thought Hogan. _When did I start thinking of Carter as my Second in Command?_

"Oh, that's good then, I guess," hedged Carter, not so certain of where he stood with his commander. A lot of things had changed over the last month and it was weird having someone who outranked him around all the time once more. He was happy to have the Colonel back, but it felt strange to look to someone else for orders after so long. In some ways, it was also a huge relief.

"Something you wanted, or just to see if I was alive?" said Hogan with a smile, sensing Carter's hesitancy.

"Oh, yeah. Uh, here, sir," said Carter, holding out a civilian shirt to the man on the cot. "You shouldn't wear that SS uniform any more. It'll only get you into trouble. It's all Allied territory from here south to Dresden now."

"Thanks. South to Dresden, eh?" echoed Hogan, surprised at Carter's up-to-date knowledge.

"Well, if we want to travel in Soviet-occupied territory anyway. We might be better crossing the Elbe at Magdeburg which is still held by US Forces, then travel down to Erfurt to Hammelburg. We came through Torgau but we had Igor to escort us from there to Berlin. I don't think Colonel Petrenkov will be as accommodating as he doesn't have the men to spare. Igor was just a downed flyer in the way at Torgau so I think the Major in command there was glad to get rid of him for a few days. Gee, here I am assuming you want to return to Stalag 13. That was our plan at least. Maybe you want to head straight to the coast and then to London? I mean, we had every intention of returning to camp. Baker, Olsen and a few of the remaining Barrack's Chiefs are waiting to hear how successful we were in finding you and there's still the Operation to wrap up..." Carter's ramble drifted off as he waited for some sort of response from the man on the cot.

Hogan was quiet for a moment as he contemplated the man before him. Carter was the same, yet different. Here he was rambling away as usual, but it was about important information this time. "Seems like you've got it all worked out. Just tell me we aren't walking home?"

"I hope not, sir! We've got a car hidden away in one of the suburbs, so as long as it's still there and in one piece, we should be good to go whenever you are." Carter fidgeted with the edge of his jacket. He was still wearing a Russian uniform which didn't fit him all too well. _It's bizarre_, thought Carter. _We've been working day and night to get the Colonel back, and now he's here, there's a distance between us as if we aren't the same people any more. It's like we have to get to know each other all over again and where we stand with each other._

"The doctor wants another look at my hand this morning, to see if there's any infection setting in." Hogan's words scattered Carter's thoughts. "After that, a good meal and we should be set to hit the road. Any hotspots I need to know about?"

"No, sir. The Germans surrendered Berlin yesterday while you were still locked up. Berlin is officially Russian territory."

Hogan was beginning to hate this sudden awkwardness between himself and Carter. He was trying to get Carter to open up but Carter's responses were strictly business. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but it wasn't comfortable. He sighed and shook his head. "Sit down, Carter."

Instantly Carter sat on a nearby chair, back ramrod straight, hands clasped in his lap. Hogan took one look at him and winced. "Jeeze Carter, relax will ya? I don't bite."

Carter stared at his Colonel and tried to do what he asked, but the tension wouldn't leave his shoulders. Carter had never found it easy to talk with his commander. The last to join the team, the one who repeatedly screwed up something vital, the one who babbled endlessly…it always left him feeling on the fringe. Newkirk on the other hand, had no trouble speaking his mind when it came to confronting the Colonel about anything and Carter envied him for it.

"Things are different, huh?" said Hogan. Carter wordlessly nodded, eyes wide that the Colonel had picked up on it so easily. _Maybe he was feeling the same way?_ thought Carter. _No, not the Colonel. He's always so sure of everything._

"Tell me about the camp. Tell me about the liberation. What happened after I left?" Hogan asked suddenly, leaning forward to brace his good arm against his knee. "I didn't get much detail over the phone."

"How did you find out about the liberation?" asked Carter, not quite ready to dive in to his story.

"I had my sources," replied Hogan. "Kept an eye out for news from the area. I found I couldn't just detach myself from all of you despite being in Berlin."

"We were so happy after you called; knowing you were safe made it a little easier."

"It was risky and stupid and I shouldn't have taken the chance," said Hogan with a hint of anger at himself. "I can see that now looking back but at the time I was so pleased with myself for having pulled it off." He paused, considering whether to continue. "But I almost didn't." The words tumbled out before Hogan could hold them back.

"What do you mean?" asked Carter with a touch of alarm. He watched as Colonel Hogan picked at a piece of tape holding the splint on one of his fingers. Carter could see a tightness around the Colonel's eyes and mouth as if he regretted sharing those few words. Carter wondered for a moment if the Colonel would continue his story.

"Hochstetter," blurted Hogan, suddenly needing to get this portion of his adventures off his chest. "He was in the same restaurant I made the call from. Caught a glimpse of me at the time but I slipped out the back before he could get near me. Thought I had made good my escape but he tracked me down a week or so later. Almost blew my cover with a co-worker. Would have killed me if the area hadn't been shelled by an Allied bomber at the right moment."

"Hochstetter knows you're alive?" asked Carter incredulously. "Do you know where he is now?"

"I don't think he does. He was injured in the blast. I don't know what happened to him after that."

"We almost ran into him at a local hospital while we were looking for you, well Erlich Strauss at least. He had a cast on one arm and appeared to be checking out."

"Did he see you?" It was Hogan's turn to be concerned.

"No. We were dressed in German uniforms and hid in a side hallway until he left."

"I suppose it doesn't matter now, what with the war virtually over at last. There's nothing left of the Gestapo. He's probably gone to ground and we'll never see him again. Not that that's a bad thing," said Hogan with a rueful smile. "The liberation?" he prompted, hoping Carter was ready to talk now he had shared a little of his time away from the team. There was still some air to clear between them and Hogan wouldn't let it rest while they had the chance to do it in private without Newkirk and LeBeau around.

"It was rough after you left," said Carter slowly, recalling the first tentative days of his command. "I had no idea what I was doing. After my first roll call, Klink called me into his office and told me there were food shortages. He couldn't get the Red Cross packages and the supply lines were all interrupted. Eventually I came up with the idea to have everyone pool their leftover supplies and we rationed it daily." Carter flushed a little as he recalled how he got the idea; his little tête-à-tête with an imaginary version of the Colonel.

"Good. That was good thinking. Got everyone working together and nobody had more than anyone else. I would have done the same thing."

"Thanks, Colonel," replied Carter, pleased at the praise. "Taking over from you was really hard at first. The guys knew they were supposed to listen to me but only because Klink had put me in charge and not because I was an officer or anything. But I kinda got them behind me after that, you know? I guess they realized I really was going to follow your example and put the men first. Anyway, it wasn't long after when Colonel Gillespie arrived. Klink surrendered immediately; not a shot was fired and I convinced the Colonel to leave his tanks outside the wire without revealing the Operation. I couldn't risk them collapsing the tunnels. And the party we held! Made the one we staged to fool old Hochstetter into thinking the war was over look like a tea party, even though most of us couldn't help but feel we were missing someone important in the celebrations." Carter ducked his head, a little embarrassed by the last admission. "Major Sullivan was left in charge when Colonel Gillespie moved on, and London gave me permission to let him in on the barebones of the Operation after he wanted to put German prisoners in Barracks 2."

"Carter, I'm amazed. I'm sure those are just the highlights, but it sounds like you took to command fairly well. I wish I had been there to see it. After so long in that dump, I missed the one thing we'd all been praying for and working towards for so long. And then you managed to get the team here and find me against all odds."

"Yes, sir. There's lots more to tell, but maybe when we're on the road? Not to rush you or anything but it is almost 1100…"

Hogan chuckled; this new 'In Command Carter' was going to take some getting used to. He was looking forward to hearing Newkirk and LeBeau's side of the story as well. Carter stood up to leave, to give the Colonel some privacy while he got changed.

"Oh, one more thing Colonel," said Carter, turning back to the man on the cot.

"What is it?"

"What about you? Aside from Hochstetter…" Hogan knew Carter wasn't meaning his health. He took a moment to think about how to explain it.

"Being under cover was not the most pleasant of experiences to put it mildly. I had to do some damn distasteful things and witnessed more than I would have liked. I've still got to set a lot of it straight in my head and come to terms with the entire experience. There were times I desperately wanted to fix or change some wrong I had no control over; times where I my hands were tied and all I could do was stand by and watch the evil unfold. I'll admit I came close to losing myself in being Strauss and could have easily forgotten who I truly was and why I was really there. I know it will take time to banish the nightmares, but I will. Eventually. It will just take time. Time which I now have thanks to you and the guys. And maybe I'll share a bit of it along the way. No promises."

Carter considered the words and thought about some of the things he'd seen since coming to Berlin. The bodies in the park flashed in his mind. _If the Colonel had had anything to do with it…_ Carter nodded his understanding. "Fair enough. So are you done being Erlich Strauss?" Carter asked plainly.

"Absolutely. I have never been more ready to rid myself of an undercover persona before in my entire life," replied Hogan honestly.

"Then welcome back to the team," replied Carter, dropping a single dog tag on a chain into the Colonel's good hand before striding out of the room. "We missed you," drifted over his shoulder as he left.

Hogan's jaw dropped in wonder as he recognized the gift and his eyes prickled with sudden unshed tears. He looked up in amazement to see the retreating form of his Second in Command disappear out the door. His gaze returned to the small item he held in his palm which held so much meaning to him, representing everything he was. He was mesmerized by the way the light caught and reflected on its engraved surface. With such a simple token, Carter had given him his identity back.

Hogan whipped off the old ID tag which he had worn for the last month, glad to be free at last from the burden of being Hauptsturmfürher Erlich Strauss. He was going to throw it into a pile of trash across the room when his hand seemed to change direction of its own accord and put the German ID into his pocket for safekeeping. Hogan didn't stop to think about his actions; instead, he slipped the chain with its single tag over his head to have it rest against his chest.

_Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, United States Army Air Corps, O-__876707_ glinted in the pale light of the new day from where it hung just above his heart. It was good to finally be himself again.

* * *

Hochstetter awoke to a sunbeam in his eyes. He had found a derelict building just inside the Magdeburg city limits, and after reaching his own limits to get that far, had crashed for the night. Now the mid-morning sun had shined its spotlight on him and dragged him back to the land of the living.

Hochstetter sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His arm was itchy inside the cast, a problem he'd encountered numerous times for many hours over the last few days. He couldn't wait for it to be removed already and he still had weeks to go before his arm would be healed.

Slowly he got to his feet, stretching and working the kinks out of his exhausted body. He found it odd how curling up against a pile of rubble to sleep was becoming common-place in his life. He took a quick look around the building he was in, but found nothing of use to him, especially nothing in the food department. Deciding to push on, he left the small structure and continued further into town.

He heard voices in the streets ahead and wondered if he should take cover. He was dressed as a civilian and had no documentation on him identifying himself as a Gestapo officer, so he decided to take a chance and investigate. As he moved closer, his nose was assaulted with the most heavenly scent he had ever smelled. He entered the town square and discovered the temporary Mess set up by the US soldiers who were occupying Magdeburg.

Many of the soldiers were still around, finishing their breakfasts before going on duty. A few civilians were also about, so he wasn't completely out of place. One soldier noticed him approaching and intercepted him at the edge of the eating area.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the soldier politely.

Hochstetter cleared his throat. While he was used to bellowing orders and certainly out-ranked the man before him, Hochstetter acknowledged to himself he would have to use a different way of handling people if he wanted any help. He swallowed a little of what remained of his pride.

"I was hoping there would be some food," he said. He staggered a little as he walked, exaggerating the weakness he felt.

"Are you okay?" asked the soldier, noting the slight stumble of the German man.

"I've just arrived from Berlin. I barely managed to escape the fighting there and make it through the Russian lines. I've been travelling non-stop for the last two days with no food," explained Hochstetter, hoping to garner some pity from the soldier with a pleading look in his eyes.

"Come, we have some to spare," said the soldier, escorting Hochstetter to the food line.

Hochstetter loaded his tray and found a place to sit and eat. He observed the soldiers coming and going from the square, a habit from years of investigative work. He was just finishing the last of his food when he spotted a soldier entering from a side street. He was obviously an officer by the way several passing soldiers saluted him. There was something charismatic about the man and he seemed to draw Hochstetter's stare. The Gestapo man couldn't help but watch the American make his way through the square and grab a quick bite from the chow line.

It appeared the officer was just coming off duty. _Night watch perhaps_, mused Hochstetter. As he passed a little closer, Hochstetter couldn't help but feel the man looked familiar somehow. Then the man sat on the far side of the square with his tray of food. Hochstetter watched as the soldier removed his helmet revealing jet black hair. The shock at the instant recognition caused Hochstetter to drop his fork, clattering harshly against the metal tray.

_Hogan!_ cried Hochstetter in his mind, grinding his teeth to keep it inside. _I thought I was finally rid of you; thought you had died in the alley behind the Bier Stube. But no, you're here, alive and involved with the US Forces holding Magdeburg._

Bitterness welled up in Hochstetter's heart, his newly full gut wrenching so hard he almost lost its much-needed sustenance. A quiet fury burned behind Hochstetter's eyes. Hogan had outplayed him at every turn; all through his time at Stalag 13, then with the fake execution, and ultimately escaping death in Berlin. It was Hogan's fault his entire world was crashing down around him now. If only he'd been allowed to deal with Hogan at the beginning when he first suspected the American, the war would have taken a different turn and he wouldn't have been begging off Americans for a meagre bite of breakfast. The need for revenge began to invade Hochstetter's entire being and plans started taking shape in his mind as he stared at his adversary across the square. He didn't even notice the white-knuckled clenching of his fist.

_You're mine, Hogan! __This I promise you – you are mine!_

* * *

The team grabbed showers and a quick breakfast from the Soviet Mess. Afterwards, LeBeau and Hogan headed over to the medical tent and had their injuries inspected to ensure no infection had set in. Both were given the all-clear and given some extra bandaging to take with them on their travels.

By early afternoon, the party of four from Stalag 13 was ready to head out. Carter and Hogan took their leave of Colonel Petrenkov. Petrenkov gave the team updated travel permits to get them through any of the Russian-occupied Allied territory they had to cross to return to Stalag 13. He also apologized once more for not believing Colonel Hogan; apparently an additional message had come in informing Petrenkov there was a mistake made by the clerk who had checked on Hogan's Red Cross forms. Klink had indeed completed the forms correctly and recorded the date of execution as April 1. Petrenkov made it up to the team by authorizing a truck to drive them to the location where they had hidden the car; something which saved several hours of walking and was very much appreciated.

Things were definitely starting to go their way. The car was indeed intact, sitting just as it had been left several days ago. They topped up the fuel tank with gasoline Petrenkov had included in the back of the truck and stuck a spare can in the trunk for later use. Hopefully it would be enough to get them home.

Tired of wearing the ill-fitting Russian uniforms, one of the first things Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau did was to dig through their carefully hidden supplies and come up with their regular service uniforms. Hogan could tell by the smiles on their faces they were ecstatic to be in their own clothes once more.

Carter snuck out to the car while the others were conversing and removed the floorboards in the rear. He pulled out a burlap sack, bringing it inside the building beside where the car was parked and joined the rest of the team. He made a little show of handing the bag to Colonel Hogan while Newkirk and LeBeau looked on. A little bulky, not very heavy, Hogan wondered what his Sergeant had for him this time. Not able to hold it and open it because of his sling, Carter opened the draw-string and held it for him. LeBeau and Newkirk encouraged him to reach inside, so Hogan put his good hand in and felt fabric. Pulling out his arm, he found himself holding a pair of Army Air Corps issue brown pants. Hogan stared at them in surprise, then put them down on a nearby table before plummeting his arm inside the sack again.

This time his hand pulled out a light brown shirt, Army Air Corps officer issue, complete with eagle on the collar and wings on the pocket. By now moisture was gathering in his eyes again and Hogan was wondering how many times a little gesture like this was going to keep him riding on the proverbial emotional roller coaster. A huge grin lit up his face despite his glassy eyes.

"I don't know what to say, Carter," said Hogan. "Thank you. All of you. You have no idea how happy I am to be able to wear my own uniform again."

"You're welcome, sir. You know, I'm starting to feel like Santa here!" replied Carter with a grin. "There's more in the bag, Colonel. Christmas isn't quite over yet," he continued, encouraging Hogan to reach inside once more.

Hogan could tell by the shape there was still something remaining in the sack. This time Hogan pulled out his shoes, complete with socks tucked inside. Figuring that was it, he went to gather his belongings to change, but Carter clearing his throat and offering the sack to him made him realize there must be something else as well. Newkirk and LeBeau were grinning wide as Cheshire cats and Hogan found his hand starting to shake. _No, no Carter wouldn't have…I had it boxed to send to London. He didn't…_

Hogan found a lump growing in his throat as he stared at his Sergeant. Carter's face was impassive, giving nothing away. Tentatively, Hogan reached into the bag and his hand touched leather. Hogan closed his eyes briefly, savouring the feel of the buttery soft, well-worn material. _Oh God, he did!_ Hogan slowly pulled out his leather bomber jacket, stunned. He cradled the precious jacket awkwardly on his injured arm, unwilling to set it down. Carter had it folded such that the gold lettering on the front blazed in the room's light, the eagle on the shoulder softly glinting. Hogan ran his fingers over his name in a gentle caress, his entire focus on the small lettering.

"We'll let you get changed, Colonel," said Carter, nudging LeBeau and Newkirk towards the door. "We'll meet you at the car."

Hogan nodded wordlessly, almost completely oblivious to the men leaving him to his privacy. He was so absorbed he didn't even notice Carter adding his crush cap to the top of the pile of clothing on the table before exiting the room. The rest of the team went outside and gathered around the vehicle.

"You took quite a chance, _mon ami_," said LeBeau. "What if something had happened to his jacket on our travels?"

"Well, if it had and we got him back, I guess the Colonel would have court marshalled me, or demoted me, or put me on KP for the rest of my life. Hmm, maybe all three?" The trio laughed. "If we hadn't got him back, it wouldn't have mattered much," added Carter, sobering. "But with what you had said about him losing himself, Louie, I figured when we got him back, we might need everything possible to remind him of who he really was to bring him back to himself again. Fortunately, that wasn't the case."

"_Oui_, we are lucky," agreed LeBeau.

"I'll second that," said Newkirk, who had been quiet throughout the entire thing, silently watching the emotions playing across his Colonel's face as he regained more of his true identity. It had always been a sensitive subject for him after knowing too many orphans on the streets and almost being one himself – a mother who passed on early in his life and a father who loved his bottle more than his son. _Thank God I had Mavis_.

"Got the route planned out, Louie?" asked Carter.

"_Oui_, provided we don't run into too much road damage. The Russians hit Berlin hard. We may have a difficult time getting out of the city," replied LeBeau.

"I'm sure you'll do your best," encouraged Carter.

Before long, Colonel Hogan, looking much more like himself in his American uniform, came out of their makeshift hideout with a bounce in his step, a twinkle in his eye, and his cap cocked at a rakish angle. Everyone was happy to see the improvement in their leader, despite the sling which still hung around Hogan's neck. Even the bruising on his cheek was beginning to fade.

"Ready to go, gov?" asked Newkirk.

"Boy am I ever. If I never see Berlin again in my life, it'll be too soon!" replied Hogan with a grin.

Everybody piled into the car; Newkirk driving as usual with LeBeau navigating, map spread across his lap. Carter and Hogan were relegated to the backseat but they didn't mind. Newkirk fired up the engine and they pulled onto the street heading roughly southwest.

"Which way did we decide to go, Carter?" asked Hogan curiously, after several minutes of travelling through the Berlin suburbs. He yawned suddenly, the rocking of the car working wonders on relaxing him in addition to the pain killers the Russian doctor had given him. It was only mid-afternoon but it had been a full day so far for someone who was still recovering and catching up on his sleep.

"Through Magdeburg, Colonel."

"Any particular reason?" asked Hogan, although he suspected he might regret asking. His eyes were beginning to feel heavy and he settled back against the seat cushion.

"I hadn't been there before. You know, my mom always said I should take every advantage to get out and see the world. Whenever we went on family vacations, we always tried to leave and come home in different ways. There was this one trip…"

Despite his best effort, Hogan drifted off in mid-ramble.

* * *

Hochstetter kept a low profile, not wanting Hogan to see him and know he was around. He had slipped out of the square into a side street that afforded him a vantage point to watch his quarry while Hogan finished his breakfast. After Hogan was finished, it was a case of tailing his adversary without revealing his position. Hogan didn't seem to be aware Hochstetter was following him; in fact he seemed blissfully unaware of the possibility which made Hochstetter happy. An ignorant target was a captured target.

Hogan made a stop at a building Hochstetter came to realize was being used as a headquarters for the American troops. Staked out across and down the street from the entrance, Hochstetter kept watch while Hogan was inside and mentally went through his plans to snare his foe. He had little with him in way of supplies and couldn't really prepare or scavenge much if he was following Hogan around all day. Hochstetter realized he would have to do a little preparation if he had any hope of catching Hogan.

After a couple of hours of watching the building with no Hogan appearing, Hochstetter was beginning to believe he had slipped out the back or some such. He saw some other soldiers down the street and decided to approach them to see what information he could gather. Easing onto the street from his hideout, he called out to the nearest one.

"Excuse me, sir!"

"Can I help you?" asked the soldier, turning to face the man who had caught his attention.

"I am hoping you can. I was told to see a Colonel Hogan about getting some supplies and I was wondering if you had seen him or could tell me where I might find him this time of day?" Hochstetter watched as the Corporal's face took on a slightly confused look. He thought he had been fairly general in his question ad hoped he hadn't said anything to draw attention to himself.

"Well, there aren't any Colonels around these parts. I don't suppose you mean Captain Hogan?" clarified the Corporal.

"Oh, it's 'Captain' is it? I'm afraid my memory's not so good and military ranks have always confused me. I was certain it started with a 'C'," said Hochstetter, adapting a befuddled expression to back up his story. In truth, he knew all the military ranks from all the Armed Forces fighting in the war, Allied and Axis; names, insignia, service branch, and rank order. _Wonder why the demotion in rank and no change in name?_ Hochstetter mused. "Do you know where he is?"

"I imagine he's gone off duty. He usually pulls night patrol, comes on about dinner time. By now he should be asleep in his apartment above our headquarters building just down the street there, unless Major Daniels kept him up again. I would ask in at HQ or wait until evening Mess. Unless it's urgent, and then maybe Major Daniels will be able to help you."

"_Danke_, young man. You've been more helpful than you know," oozed Hochstetter with what he hoped passed for a friendly grin. "Thank you very much!"

"You're welcome, sir. Glad I could be of service," replied the Corporal before he carried on with his day. Hochstetter could catch the man muttering as he walked away, "'Colonel' Hogan, ha, ha, the Captain will love that one!"

Inwardly, Hochstetter was pleased. If Hogan was sleeping now, or soon to be, he would have all day to scope out a location to hold the 'Captain', as well as gathering some necessary items like rope to bind him and cloth to gag him. Hochstetter got to work.

* * *

Travel was slow. Newkirk and LeBeau had had to double the car back numerous times before managing to clear the Berlin city limits. They also encountered a few of checkpoints along the way, which helped to delay them further. Fortunately, the passes Colonel Petrenkov had provided saw them through with no difficulties, just the time lost going through the process.

They were now an hour outside Berlin, heading steadily southwest. They skirted Potsdam and took the cross-country roads. Half way between the towns of Michendorf and Beelitz, while passing through the wooded area around the lake called Seddiner See, the unthinkable happened.

Newkirk was lucky he kept control of the car when the tire blew. The bang was similar enough to a gunshot to cause the guys to hunch down and wonder if someone was suddenly shooting at them. The car abruptly weaving was indication enough of what had really happened and Newkirk was able to pull the car over to the side of the road safely. Everyone took a few minutes to catch their breath and calm their nerves before climbing out of the vehicle to put the spare on.

It was getting close to dinner time now as the boys changed the tire. Since all the rations they had stored in the tire compartment had to be unloaded from the trunk to get the jack and spare out, it was decided a nice picnic by the lake was in order. The 'C' rations made their appearance again.

"This is kind of peaceful," said Hogan from where he was perched on a rock overlooking the lake. "Makes a nice change from Berlin."

"Boy, I'll say!" agreed Carter. "Reminds me of a vacation my family took to Minnesota when I was ten."

There was a long silence as everyone expected Carter to launch into yet another vacation story but he didn't. He was too busy taking in the beauty of the scenery around them, unmarked by the destruction of the war which had constantly surrounded them for the last couple of weeks. The others did likewise, enjoying the reprieve from danger and savouring the companionship which had been incomplete for the previous month.

"Hey, these are pretty good," said Hogan around a mouthful of beef stew, breaking the silence at last.

"Yeah, I'm sure you think so," groused LeBeau, stabbing a forkful of hash. "Lousy American taste buds. There's no flavour to these at all!"

"You're just sore you got the hash again," teased Carter.

"Just you wait, gov'na," put in Newkirk. "You won't think so when they's the only thing you've eaten for a week, both breakfast and dinner."

Hogan shrugged and continued to eat. He'd wait and see about that.

The sunset was spectacular as the glowing orb dipped below the horizon, infusing the sky with brilliant oranges, pinks and purples. It was so tranquil, thoughts naturally drifted to wondering what life would hold for them after the war.

By unspoken agreement, the group regretfully left this little spot of Eden and climbed back into the car to resume their trek.

* * *

"Tom!" came the shout from across the main floor of the headquarters building. From the open door of his office, Major Mark Daniels had spotted his Second in Command crossing to the building's exit.

"Hey Mark, what are you still doing on duty?" asked Tom as he backtracked to speak with his commander. "Thought you'd be long gone to Mess."

"Just finishing up actually. Wanted to touch base with you. We had a minor incident this afternoon."

"What kind of incident?" asked Tom, puzzled.

"One of the MPs was assaulted a little ways from the main square. Who ever it was knocked him out from behind. Nobody saw a thing. When he awoke, his gun and handcuffs were missing."

"That's truly bizarre," said Tom. When the US troops had first arrived in Magdeburg, there were often some minor occurrence like this, but it had petered off to nothing in the previous couple of weeks. The remaining Germans in town were all seemingly peaceful people who were happy to have the fighting past them, waiting for word the war was over so they could rebuild and get on with their lives.

"Thought you should know. We're not sure what prompted the attack so be careful out there," said Daniels, not wanting any of his men injured but especially not his best friend.

"Will do. Thanks for the heads-up," called Tom as he headed out.

* * *

"Drop your weapon."

The masculine voice behind him was rough and brooked no argument. Tom hesitated for a moment until he felt the barrel of a gun press into the tender spot where his ribs met his spine. Slowly he bent forward and laid his rifle on the ground, raising his hands as he straightened up. Tom felt the man remove his sidearm from its holster on his hip.

"What do you want?" Tom forced his voice to be firm but inwardly he was alarmed at the turn of events unfolding. _This must be related to the injured MP earlier today!_

"You, Hogan. What do you think?" growled the man from behind.

Tom was confused. _How does this man know my name?_

"I don't understand. What do you want me for?" asked Tom, hoping to get some information which might help him diffuse the situation. Maybe there was something his captor wanted which would buy his freedom.

"Bah! Don't be stupid. After all these years, I know you better than that."

_This isn't goin__g well_, thought Tom in dismay. _This man seems to know me but I haven't got a clue who he is or what he wants._ "Who are you?" asked Tom, trying again.

"Silence! Put these cuffs on, nice and tight too!" said the man, hooking the MP's missing handcuffs on Tom's right thumb. "You try anything and you're dead, Hogan," added his captor.

Tom took the cuffs and fastened them securely to both his wrists, leaving his hands bound in front of him. His captor was apparently pleased and Tom felt a shove on his left shoulder blade which pushed him forward hard enough he almost stumbled.

"Move!" came the gruff command.

Tom obeyed, mostly due to no other option. He followed the orders to turn left or right, sometimes faltering over unseen debris in the darkness. He used the cover of night to hide his actions from his captor. With his hands cuffed in front, Tom was able to reach his spare ammo pouch on the front of his belt. Every hundred feet or so and every time they rounded a corner, Tom would drop a rifle bullet, masking the sound of the metal casing hitting concrete by coughing, stumbling, or asking questions which were never answered. He hoped someone would pick up the trail and find him – as long as he didn't run out of bullets before they reached their destination or they got in a vehicle and drove off somewhere.

Tom knew it would be a long time before he was missed. He frequently went hours without a standard check-in and he probably wouldn't be truly thought of as AWOL until morning. _Absent Without Choice is more like it_, he thought, snickering to himself.

* * *

There had never been a happier group to see a town limits sign than the group from Stalag 13. Reaching Magdeburg at last, it was already past 20:00 and well and truly dark.

They had spent the preceding couple of hours continuing across Germany's countryside, filling the time by catching up on everyone's adventures thus far. Hogan was surprised to learn Klink was being held in the cooler ever since the liberation; he knew Klink wasn't a threat and would have left him in the barracks had he been in charge. Hogan returned the favour by sharing the story of his first meeting with Hitler, leaving the guys a little numb with the realization of how deep undercover their Colonel had actually been.

Clearing the check point on the edge of town, Newkirk received directions on how to get to the city center and the location of Headquarters. As visiting Allied Servicemen, they were required to report to the area commander, whom they were informed was a Major Daniels, in order to secure a place to sleep for the night.

Parking the car out front, the four men climbed stiffly from the car and stretched, working out kinks which had set in after the long ride. The lights from inside HQ glowed softly, spilling out onto the city street and beckoning them inside. Hogan led the group to the door when suddenly it opened and a soldier emerged, almost knocking the Colonel off his feet.

"Oh sorry, Captain. Didn't see you there. You're back early – all must be quiet on patrol, huh? Catch you later for a cup of Joe – the Major's got me off on an errand." He was in such a rush, he didn't even notice the man he ran into was wearing the wrong uniform and sporting a sling.

Hogan was taken aback enough he didn't even reprimand the soldier for calling him the wrong rank. By the time he found his tongue, the soldier was around the corner and out of earshot.

"You alright, gov'na?" asked Newkirk. "'e didn't 'arm your 'and, did 'e?"

"No, it's fine," said Hogan quietly. The wheels were starting to turn in his head.

"Gee, Colonel, I wonder why he called you 'Captain'?" asked Carter.

"I'm not sure, but I'm beginning to have a suspicion," he replied. His gut was now working overtime. He indicated the others should go ahead inside while he took a few steadying breaths before following behind.

A Lieutenant working at a desk just inside the door looked up as the group entered. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yes, sir," said Carter, saluting. He was wondering why the Colonel had sent him in first, figuring Hogan would want to throw his rank around a little to smooth things through. "We were told at the checkpoint to report to Major Daniels? We're looking for a place to crash for the night."

"The Major's suppose to be off-duty," hedged the Lieutenant. He looked up as Colonel Hogan entered the building to join the group and smiled. "Or you can just ask the Captain there."

Carter turned and only saw Colonel Hogan. "Why would I ask the Colonel? He's with us and looking for a place to stay as well."

The grin on the Lieutenant's face faltered. "Colonel?" he squeaked. "There must be some mistake…"

Hogan pushed his way through his men to get to the desk. It appeared his suspicions were correct. "Lieutenant, I believe my Sergeant asked you a question." Hogan pulled out his most intimidating command voice. "Where is Major Daniels?"

The Lieutenant snapped to attention and saluted, easily spotting the eagle pinned to the officer's right collar. It was at that moment he realized the Colonel was wearing Air Corps uniform, not infantry like his Captain.

"What's going on out here?" bellowed a voice from the rear. A back office door swung open and an Army officer dressed in green fatigues came marching out. His step staggered to a halt when he laid eyes on the Colonel. There was a long moment of silence as the two looked at each other. The Major's face became alarmingly pale.

"Rob?" came the question at last, laced with hope, disbelief, and a touch of confusion.

Hogan nodded. "Hi Mark. Good to see you. I think this is where I say 'Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated'," he said with a grin.

"You look like death warmed over, though," said Daniels, regaining some colour. He broke out of his stupor and finally moved, embracing Hogan and clapping him on the back. "God it's good to see you! Tom will be thrilled. We got word through Command channels you'd been executed by the Gestapo. I've been keeping an eye on him ever since. He took the news real hard, Rob."

"I'm sure he did, Mark, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry," said Hogan, regret coming through in his voice.

A throat clearing in the background made Hogan aware his team was still waiting behind him.

"Fellas, I'd like you to meet Mark Daniels, my brother Tom's best friend and my brother-in-law." Hogan could feel the jaws dropping on the faces of his team as he turned to Daniels, "Hey, when did you make Major anyway?"

"Just before Tom made Captain, right after the D-Day campaign. We're a matched set," replied Daniels mischievously.

"You mean there really is a Captain Hogan?" said Carter, eyes wide.

"_Sacre chats!_" exclaimed LeBeau. "You have a brother? And a sister?"

"Blimey, Colonel, do you know we've learned more about you in the last ruddy fifteen minutes than we 'ave in the last bloody fifteen months?" asked Newkirk.

"What can I say? I'm a private person," replied Hogan with a shrug. In reality, he was always afraid someone would use the knowledge against him so kept personal details to himself. He turned back to Major Daniels. "By the way, this is my team: Corporals Peter Newkirk and Louis LeBeau, and my Second in Command, Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter." The guys nodded or waved at the Major when their name was mentioned. Carter stood a little straighter after Hogan introduced him as his Second for the first time, inwardly pleased. "So where is Tom anyway?"

"Night patrol. I'm supposed to be off duty but there seems to be tons of paperwork growing every day and I'm attempting to keep on top of it. Tom, who's my Second, doesn't do well on maintaining his portion; keeps skipping out to check the perimeter and such," said Daniels with a chuckle. "I usually don't touch base with him until after breakfast. Probably better if we leave him until he's off duty otherwise we'll never get any sleep tonight. How'd you end up here anyway? I thought you were in Stalag 13 until the other message arrived."

"I was, but they got me out to do some Classified, Top Secret work which took me to Berlin – undercover," replied Hogan.

Daniels gave a low whistle. "Undercover in Berlin? That's dangerous stuff, Rob. I'm dying to know more but I'm sure you don't want to tell everything twice, so I'll wait until morning when Tom's back. You guys got a place to sleep for the night?"

"Nope. That's why we're here. Just arrived from Berlin and the checkpoint MP told us to report here."

"Lieutenant, can you see these gentlemen get some accommodation for the night?" asked Daniels. He then turned to Hogan, "You need anyone to look at your arm tonight?"

"No, I'm good. Had it checked this morning."

"Alright then. I'm sure you gents are tired. I'm heading that way myself – 0500 seems to come earlier every day."

"I can relate to that," said Hogan with a grimace. "Thanks, Mark. Good night."

"Night, Rob. Good to see you. Really good."

* * *

A sensation of pain radiating from the back of his head brought Tom around to awareness. His head lolled against his chest and as he regained consciousness, he tried to raise it. Blinking his eyes against the brightness of the room, he tried to wipe his eyes but found his arms bound to the chair he was sitting in. His legs were also tied to the chair. Taking in the room's surroundings, Tom recalled how he got to be in this predicament.

The man who had abducted him had had Tom follow a specific set of instructions before arriving at the building he was tied up in. After reaching the room, Hogan had been ordered to sit in a chair sitting in the center of the area. It was then he received a blow on the back of his head which rendered him unconscious. He still had yet to see his abductor's face.

Now Tom sat quietly. He scanned the room as best he could but found he was alone, unless his captor was right behind him. He wondered how much time had passed; the sole window he could see was well covered and let no light in if indeed morning had broken already.

The door squeaked as it opened behind him and a sense of foreboding tingled over his shoulders. Maybe at last he would have some answers.

A shortish man in a well-rumpled and soiled suit came into Tom's line of sight. He had a harsh face sporting a small moustache and one arm was enclosed in a cast. Tom swore he had never seen the man before in his life.

"I see we're finally awake, eh Hogan?" said the man, pacing back and forth in front of the chair.

"No thanks to you," replied Tom, looking up at the man and trying to work out who he was. "What is this about anyway?"

"Surely you can't have forgotten me already?" The man paused in his pacing and gave Tom a feral look. Tom suddenly felt like the canary snared by the cat.

"I've never seen you before in my life!" Tom declared strongly.

"Hogan, you've played me for a fool for years with your little setup at Stalag 13; you won't play me for one now!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" cried Tom, frustration coming to the fore.

"Yes you do. You managed to convince those bumbling fools Klink and Burkhalter you were innocent but I never believed it. I only lacked solid proof, which you were always able to hide. But no more! You'll pay for my years of humiliation."

"Wait! Did you say Stalag 13?" asked Tom. At the man's nod, the pieces started to click. "That's where my brother was. You've got the wrong man!"

"Nice try, Hogan, but I can tell by looking at you, you're the right man."

"No! You don't understand. My name is Tom. Rob was the one imprisoned at Stalag 13. He was a Colonel, I'm only a Captain. We do look an awful lot alike. This is all a mistake! But don't worry, Rob can't hurt you any more. He was killed the beginning of April. Please let me go…"

"I know! I executed you MYSELF!" roared Hochstetter, backhanding Tom across the face and splitting his lip. "But that doesn't deny the fact I cornered you in Berlin two weeks ago. You managed to slip out of my grasp then too, but not this time."

"You're Gestapo," breathed Tom, all hope sinking like the Titanic. He knew he was in big trouble. He'd heard vicious reports about what they could do to a man, and what would be left of him afterwards.

"Correct. Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter at your service." Hochstetter gave a little bow. "But then again, you know that." The blow to Tom's gut came without warning. "Don't you Hogan?"

Tom struggled to catch his breath and to sit upright once more. "You're crazy," he said, risking further backlash but still pushing to prove his innocence. "I don't know what went on between you and Rob, and frankly at this point I'm not sure I care, but for the last time: I am not Robert Hogan! Rob is DEAD!"

"Very convincing. This is a new angle to your usual smoke and mirrors routine Hogan, but one you won't find very effective. I will have my revenge and there's no one left to stop me!"

As more blows rained down on him and the world faded to black once more, Tom feared he was right.

* * *

A/N:

For those who aren't up on the military lingo:

MP = Military Police

AWOL = Absent Without Leave, sometimes seen as Absent Without Official Leave, also known as UA (Unauthorized Absence), depending on your country and service branch

"Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated" is the common misquote of the famous entry written by Mark Twain in the New York Journal of June 2, 1897, whereby a journalist mistook Twain as being near death when in actual fact, it was his cousin who was very ill. The words were actually "The report of my death is an exaggeration". Mark Twain was the pen name of Samuel Langhorne Clemens (November 30, 1835 – April 21, 1910).

The RMS Titanic hit an iceburg shortly before midnight on April 14, 1912, taking 2 hours and 40 minutes to sink, making April 15 the official date it was lost at sea. 1,517 of the 2,223 people on board died due to insufficient lifeboats. Most of these were men due to the "women and children first" rule.


	40. Chapter 40: May 4

May 4, 1945

"Morning Mark. Seen Tom yet?"

Colonel Hogan put his coffee cup on the table and sat down across from Major Daniels.

"Ah, Rob. Good Morning. Sleep well?" asked the Major while Hogan sipped his steaming brew.

"Not bad at all, thanks. What about Tom?" Hogan pressed, anxious to be reunited with his brother.

"Haven't seen him yet, which is a little strange. We've usually connected by now." Daniels frowned. "I'll see if anyone else has seen him yet this morning. That all you're having for breakfast?" he asked, indicating the cup being subjected to the drumming of Hogan's thumb against the rim.

"For now," replied Hogan nonchalantly. "Not much of a breakfast person and the sling makes it a little difficult. I'll eat when the rest of my team gets here."

"Unusual group that bunch of yours. A Yank, a Brit, and a Frenchie. Must make for interesting conversations," mused Daniels around a bite of reconstituted powdered eggs.

"They mesh well; play off each others' strengths. Great friends too. I'd lay down my life for any one of them and vice versa," said Hogan, staring into the murky depths of the remaining coffee.

"You've been through a lot together then. Nothing like trial by fire to form unbreakable bonds of friendships, despite rank," observed Daniels. "Tell me about this undercover thing you had going on. I have to admit I'm more than curious."

"Can't really. Classified," explained Hogan with a cross between a grimace and a smirk playing across his face. "Not sure where I stand at the moment."

"But you're going back to Stalag 13?" asked Daniels, popping the last piece of his biscuit into his mouth.

Rob nodded. "Unfinished business," was all he said.

"Was it really escape-proof? I mean, you were there for what, two and a half years? That was always a sore point with Tom whenever you were mentioned in your parents' letters. He had this grand idea to run down to Hammelburg and snatch you out of the camp. More likely to end up in the next bunk over for his efforts." Mark chuckled.

Hogan groaned. He could picture Tom doing just as Mark had said, thinking he was riding to his big brother's rescue and being the hero.

"You done?" At Daniels' nod, Hogan stood up from the table. "Then let's find that scamp of a brother of mine."

_

* * *

_

Crack!

It was a wake-up call Tom could have done without. The sudden backhand startled him out of a deep sleep which was barely above unconsciousness, and sent adrenalin pumping through his veins. His heart pounded at the shock and then waves of pain washed over him from the previous day's injuries. Hochstetter had thoroughly worked him over before he succumbed to oblivion last night and he was paying for it this morning. The urge to rise and fight back caused Tom more agony from where his bonds cut into his arms and legs before he remembered he was tied to the chair.

"Good morning, Hogan," the Gestapo man purred in Tom's face. "Sleep well?"

"Not particularly," replied Tom, his surliness at the abrupt awakening showing clearly in his voice.

"You don't appreciate my hospitality?" asked Hochstetter, grandiosely. "And here I went to all this trouble…"

"Just can it Hochstetter. I'm in no mood for your games this morning," groused Tom, unaware of how much he sounded like his brother at that given moment.

"Ah, so it's all coming back to you is it, my dear Hogan? I must have rattled your brain enough last night to make you remember me." Hochstetter ground one hand over his other, the leather of his gloves making an ominous creaking sound.

"Oh I'll never forget you now, don't you worry," said Tom. The wind rushed out of his lungs as Hochstetter delivered a strong punch to his stomach.

"Ready to admit your name, yet?" asked Hochstetter.

"Yes! I've been trying to you all along. Are you ready to listen?" replied Tom with a healthy dose of derision colouring his words.

"Tell me your name."

"Hogan, Thomas M., Captain, O-927874."

_Crack!_ Tom's world was spinning. His head snapped back and the skin near his eyebrow split, oozing bright red blood. Tom let his head fall forward to his chest.

"You can do better than that, Hogan!" declared Hochstetter, yanking Tom's head up by a fist full of hair. The two men stared at each other.

"And what happens if I do say I am Rob," asked Tom finally.

The Gestapo man leaned in and whispered in his ear, the words sending shivers down Tom's spine. "_Then you die._"

* * *

By mid-morning it was more than apparent Tom had gone missing. No one had seen him since around 2030 the previous evening when he did a check in with one of the outer sentries. The other check points had been surprised Tom hadn't visited them sometime over the course of the night as he regularly did. Knowing the last place where contact was made with Tom gave everyone a starting point from where to begin to search.

Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau had joined Colonel Hogan for breakfast while Major Daniels worked on tracking down the where's and when's of Tom's last known reported location. By the time they were done their quick repast, Daniels was ready to begin the search.

They were about half an hour into the search when LeBeau discovered the discarded rifle. Everyone gathered there, then spread out to look for further clues once Major Daniels identified the weapon as Tom's. They now felt certain this was where whatever happened to him happened, but what exactly occurred they were still in the dark about.

"Anyone find anything?" called Hogan, starting to feel the frustration over not being able to locate his brother.

"Big lot o' nothin', gov'na."

"_Rien ici_. Nothing here."

"Nothing but this rifle bullet, Colonel."

"Bullet? Let me see," said Daniels. Carter handed it over to him as the rest quickly gathered round, hoping it was a clue. "It's Tom's."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Hogan.

"Writing. Tom had this thing about marking all his bullets. Something about the old line 'a bullet with your name on it'. Guess he figured if their names were on the bullets, there wouldn't be one for him. Mostly, he just put 'Jerry' but sometimes he wrote 'Hitler' when he got particularly frustrated over the war," explained Daniels.

"Where'd you find it Carter?" asked Hogan.

"Just lying here plain as day. Guess he must have dropped it," replied Carter, pointing to an open spot of dust-covered road.

"Or dropped it on purpose!" exclaimed Hogan, snapping his fingers. "Everybody look for more bullets. If I know Tom, he's leaving a breadcrumb trail for us to follow. Somebody must have abducted him."

"But why? And who?" pondered Daniels.

"I guess we'll find out at the end of the trail," shrugged Hogan, as clueless as the rest of them.

More searching happened but before long Newkirk cried out in delight, "Bingo!" They continued following the trail, weaving their way through the city. It took some time to locate each bullet and a couple of times they had to double back when the trail was lost at intersections with other streets. They were still no closer to figuring out why Tom had been taken, but they were hoping they were getting closer to where he was being held.

_Hold on Tom,_ thought Hogan. _We're coming as fast as we can…_

* * *

Tom was nearing the depths of hell. His face was swollen, both eyes blackening with bruises from Hochstetter's assault. Blood dribbled unchecked down the side of his face from the blow which had opened the gash over his left eye. His lip had split numerous times with more blood running off his chin. His wrists were raw from the restraints and his gut felt like he'd done about five hundred sit ups in under a minute it was so tender. Tom was certain at least one rib, but probably more, was broken, others certainly cracked and bruised. He honestly was unsure how much more he would be able to withstand.

There had been a brief reprieve when Tom loss consciousness and the Gestapo officer needed to take a breather. He was gone for a while, and Tom wondered if that meant he had gone for a meal. Tom had not been offered food or drink since his capture and he debated about whether he'd be able to keep anything down at this point anyway.

He was in a pickle, a fix, a bind, a mess, a difficult situation, a whole heap-load of trouble. A no-win situation. If he gave in to Hochstetter's demands, he was dead. If he didn't, he could look forward to frequently getting beat to a pulp. Eventually, Tom supposed he would die from the beatings themselves, and he briefly toyed with the idea of giving in to spare himself hours of agony. His only regret would be his parents losing two sons to this war and how devastated they and his other siblings would be. But there was something about this Hochstetter which made him not want to surrender. It appeared Rob had been a thorn in his side for many years, and Tom was stubbornly continuing in his brother's footsteps. It wasn't in the Hogan nature to admit defeat.

The door creaked and Tom knew instantly Hochstetter had returned. Tom mentally gathered his courage and his resolve. Rest period was over, time for Round 3.

* * *

"That's it, Colonel. There aren't any more bullets," said Carter after a thorough search by the team to find the next crumb on the trail hopefully leading to Tom. "What do you think that means?"

"One of two things, Carter: either he ran out of bullets, or he's somewhere in one of these buildings. I doubt he was suddenly put into a vehicle after this long trek," replied Hogan, backtracking to where the last bullet was found.

"Any ideas, Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

"Have a look around but be careful. We don't know who has him or how they will react if they see us," cautioned Hogan.

Everyone spread out and looked around the nearby buildings.

"Colonel! Got somethin'," called Newkirk. Hogan hurried over and the Corporal handed him another bullet. "Cor! Right on the door step it was. Saw it catchin' the sun."

"This must be the place," said Hogan, looking up at the suspected structure. They were on a city-block of two-storey buildings which had stores and businesses on the ground floor and apartments above. They were all connected like row housing and if there was a back door, it would take some time to go down and round the block to get at the rear.

"LeBeau, I want you and Carter to circle the building and cover the rear; there's more than likely a back stairwell from the apartment above. Go!" Carter and LeBeau hurried off and Hogan turned to address the remaining team members. "Newkirk, Mark, I want you to search the ground level and basement if there is one. Join me when you're done if you haven't found anything. I'm going upstairs."

"Not by yourself you aren't!" exclaimed Daniels. The expression of determination on Newkirk's face mirrored Daniels'.

"LeBeau and Carter will be meeting me there and it won't take you two long to cover the first floor. I'll be fine," said Hogan with exasperation.

"But you're injured!" insisted Daniels. Years of experience meant Newkirk knew better than to argue with the Colonel at this point and he waited patiently for the Colonel to put the Major in his place.

"Need I point out it is not my gun hand, Major?" said Hogan pointedly, brandishing his weapon.

"No, sir!" bit out Daniels in reply.

"I appreciate the concern Mark, but I've been doing stuff like this the entire war. Take care of the main floor and join me as soon as possible. Tom may not even be here," said Hogan gently.

"That's not what your gut says though, is it?" insisted Daniels. Newkirk rolled his eyes at the Major's persistence.

"You're right," sighed Hogan. "My gut says he's here, he's in trouble, and we need to get working as a team and rescue him."

"You're right. Let's go," replied Daniels, not wanting to waste any more time arguing. _Finally!_ thought Newkirk.

The trio entered the building, Newkirk and Daniels on the ground level and Hogan climbing the stairs to the apartment above. As Hogan ascended, he could hear a low buzz, which resolved itself into a mumbling, and finally into muffled words by the time he reached the door to the apartment at the top of the stairs. He opened the door carefully just a crack and scanned what little of the room he could see. Mostly it was a foyer with coat closet. Slipping inside, he continued to follow the sounds, which were now clearly shouting. Hogan drew near another closed door and listened.

"Name!" came the bellow through the door followed by a mumbled response Hogan couldn't make out. "Bah! Don't lie to me Hogan!" was the next roar he heard which settled a dead weight in the pit of his stomach. Not only did it confirm Tom was inside, but Hogan now knew who had taken his brother: Hochstetter. The scream of agony coming from the other side of the door was enough to shatter what was left of Hogan's soul.

* * *

"Name!" shouted Hochstetter in Tom's face, anger colouring the Gestapo man's face a mottled red-purple.

Tom managed to mumble his name, rank, and serial number, the only thing keeping him going. Round 3 was a lot more dangerous than the previous sessions had been. The Lieutenant Colonel had brought a knife to the party this time.

"Bah! Don't lie to me Hogan!" roared Hochstetter, spraying spittle across Tom's face. The knife sliced deeply into Tom's upper arm and Tom cried out with the pain, unable to hold it in despite desperately wanting to. Tom didn't want to give Hochstetter the satisfaction of seeing him react to the hurt; it seemed to please the former Gestapo officer all too much. Tom's anger spiked.

"I'm not lying! You've got the wrong man. I AM NOT ROBERT HOGAN!"

Tom's shouting had covered the squeak of the door as Hogan opened it.

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Hochstetter shouted back.

"I would," said Hogan. "He's right. He's not me."

Hochstetter whirled to face to the new voice, astonishment registering on his face. Standing in the doorway in all his glory was the bane of his existence, Colonel Robert Hogan.

Tom's head lolled on his chest as he barely maintained consciousness, his brain addled from the numerous blows Hochstetter had inflicted. He wasn't sure if this was all a dream or if Rob had come back from the 'other side' to bring him home. He didn't think he was that far gone yet, so perhaps he was just hallucinating.

Hogan was appalled by the appearance of his little brother. He hadn't been fast enough to stop Hochstetter from doing a fair bit of damage, but at first glance it appeared to be mostly superficial. His natural instinct was to run over and see if Tom was okay, but he squelched the impulse with Hochstetter standing between them, still holding the knife which glistened with Tom's blood.

"Drop the knife, Hochstetter," said Hogan, raising his gun slightly, "and I won't shoot you for injuring my brother."

"So you do live! The doctor at the hospital said they recovered a body from the alley."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway behind Hogan, but he ignored them. He knew it would be Carter and LeBeau backing him up. Hochstetter would have been working alone. Hogan moved further into the room.

"The body was Hans Pfeiffer, not me. With Hans gone, I became Hitler's adjutant. I spent the next ten days underground in the Führerbunker thwarting every last defense Hitler conjured up to maintain his hold on Berlin."

"No! That's impossible!" denied Hochstetter, unable to accept the truth. One man couldn't make that much difference in the outcome of the war.

"Face it, Hochstetter. By failing to stop me, you failed your Führer. My hand was on the gun when it fired and ended Hitler's life." The straight truth, although worded to make it sound like Hogan had more control over the situation then he really had. He heard startled gasps coming from the hallway but ignored them. He would deal with the fallout from that admission later. "Does it make you feel better to know you were right about one thing at least? I _am_ the most dangerous man in all of Germany." _God it felt good to gloat to this weasely little man!_

More footsteps in the hall signaled the arrival of Newkirk and Daniels from downstairs.

"Come on in fellas. Hochstetter's about done, aren't you?" asked Hogan pointedly.

Hochstetter watched in amazement as the crew from Stalag 13 entered the former bedroom where Tom was being held. They were all armed and Hochstetter only had his knife. For a split second, he thought about plunging it into the younger Hogan's heart, taking a last revenge before Hogan and his team cut him down in a hail of bullets, but self-preservation won out. He knew Papa Bear had beaten him once more. Hochstetter dropped the knife.

Newkirk stepped in and forced Hochstetter against the wall, braced spread-eagle style while he frisked him. LeBeau and Carter helped cover him in case he tried to escape.

Rob moved forward and scooped the knife off the floor, handing it to Mark who set to work cutting through the ropes which held Tom to the chair. Rob knelt down in front of his brother and tapped him on the cheek.

"Tom? Tom? I know you're in there. Come on, Tom, wake up."

"Rob? Is that you?" came the weak reply.

"Yeah, Tom, it's me. Saving your be-hind as usual," said Rob with a slight smile.

Tom struggled to consciousness. He blinked several times and took in the scene around him – his captor pinned against the wall and being held by three armed men, his best friend squatting beside his chair while freeing his arms and legs, and his brother Rob in front of him. His _dead_ brother Rob…

"Rob?!" The cry came out half as a shout, half as a yelp of disbelief. It brought him to full awareness in a heartbeat, not believing his eyes. "You really are here, aren't you? Thought you were a figment of my imagination. How is this possible? I was told by the Pentagon you were dead! And what happened to your arm?"

"It's a long story, one for another time. Right now we need to get you some medical attention. You look like hell little brother," replied Hogan. "But it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, in more ways than one." Moisture glistened in Tom's eyes, reflected back in Rob's. The two men embraced gently but briefly, each afraid of aggravating the other's injuries. Rob pulled back and tousled Tom's hair affectionately.

Tom rubbed his arms and wrists, and stretched his legs to get some feeling back in his limbs now Daniels had finished slicing through his bindings. Rob took out a handkerchief, folded it, and tied it tightly around Tom's injured arm to stop the bleeding.

"Do you think you can stand?" asked Mark.

Tom nodded and Rob took one side while Mark took the other. "On three," said Mark, positioning his hand under Tom's armpit. Rob did likewise with his good hand on the other side. "One…two…three!"

Tom staggered slightly as he gained his feet, and was not able to straighten up fully. He worked slowly at uncurling while Rob and Mark leant their support. Finally Tom was able to stand on his own, although he listed slightly to the side where his ribs were broken.

Seeing Tom was managing okay on his own, Mark decided it was time to head downstairs. "I'm going down to use the phone. Call in some medical help for Tom and MPs to look after our guest."

Carter meanwhile had grabbed some of the rope lying on the floor beside the chair and used it to bind Hochstetter's hands behind him.

"So who is this joker anyway?" asked Tom while looking at Hochstetter. "He seems to know you quite well, Rob."

Hogan gave a bark of laughter. "That's an understatement. Just our local Gestapo man. Use to come around Stalag 13 and bother us all the time, accusing me of the most outrageous things – stealing tanks, blowing up bridges, kidnapping scientists…"

"Sounds like he's had a screw loose for quite sometime," said Tom with disbelief.

"Well actually he was right in all those cases, he just could never prove it," replied Hogan with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye.

"And here I thought you were a model prisoner."

"Who, me? You should know me better than that by now. Come on. Mark'll have a vehicle here shortly to take you to the hospital."

"Rob, I'll be fine. Just let me wash this blood off my face, get a decent meal and some sleep, and I'll be back to my old self again."

"Not on your life, little brother. I can tell just by looking at you you've got at least one broken rib, a possible concussion, numerous cuts, and your arm will probably require stitches. No skipping out of this one; that's an order."

"Ro-ob!" whined Tom and tried the puppy dog eyes that had got him out of so many scrapes before.

"Don't go looking at me like that! I've used that look enough times myself to know what you're trying to do. Hospital, now, Captain!" Hogan's voice was firm. Tom knew he was beat and sighed in defeat.

"Newkirk, take Hochstetter down first with LeBeau. Carter, help Tom with the stairs."

Hogan watched as everyone cleared the room and let out a huge sigh of relief. It had been close but everything had turned out okay in the end.

* * *

Hochstetter was taken to the local police station for lock up until somebody figured out what to do with him. He wasn't too happy about it but nobody really cared after how he had treated Tom. He was lucky there were no reprisals from the men in Tom's unit.

Tom had to stay in the field hospital for monitoring after the doctors had fixed up his arm and bound his ribs. He also got an icepack to reduce the swelling on his face and some painkillers which pretty much knocked him for a loop. Rob stayed with him for a while, attempting to catch up but Rob knew most of what they had discussed would be forgotten by morning. Tom insisted Rob rejoin his team and not hover all night watching him sleep and Rob reluctantly acquiesced. It had been a long, harrowing day, and he was well overdue for his own pain medication.

Hogan grabbed a late night cup of coffee at the Mess and joined the rest of his team at a nearby table.

"How's your brother doing Colonel?" asked Carter.

"Much better. Doctors have him knocked out on pain meds so he should get a good night's sleep tonight. They don't think he has a concussion after all, but they're keeping an eye on him. Other than the slice on his arm which needed stitches, everything else is minor cuts and abrasions. Oh and he has two broken ribs and a third one's likely cracked."

"Ol' Wolfie really did a number on 'im, eh gov?" said Newkirk, knocking the ashes from the end of his cigarette. "Sorry we didn't get ta 'im sooner."

"At least we got to him. Hochstetter really snapped this time. Couldn't believe there was somebody else who looked like me. Kept insisting Tom was lying."

"Filthy _bosche_," muttered LeBeau.

The group sat in silence for awhile, underlying tension sparking each time someone shifted or sipped their coffee.

"You want to know about Hitler's death," said Hogan softly while staring into his coffee cup, unable to look his men in the eye. He knew Carter and LeBeau had heard his words to Hochstetter and he knew they would have told the other member of their team. No doubt they had been discussing it while he was with Tom.

"Did you kill 'im?" asked Newkirk quietly, blowing out a puff of smoke. Trust the British Corporal to finally voice the burning question the rest of the team hadn't been able get the courage to ask.

"No, not really. In the end it was his choice. It was his intent all along and I couldn't stop it," replied Hogan with a sigh, running his hand through his hair and then rubbing the back of his neck to ease the knots which were forming.

"You don't have to tell us the details, _mon Colonel_. It is enough to know you didn't murder him, no matter what he deserved," said LeBeau, seeing the lines of distress forming around the Colonel's eyes at the memories.

"Thanks, LeBeau, I appreciate the 'out', but I think I do if we're to remain a team. You guys put your lives on the line to come and get me, the least I can do is share a little of what you were saving me from."

Hogan got up for a refill, feeling the need to walk off some tension before beginning his story. It gave him a chance to order his thoughts and bury some of the emotions attached before returning to the table. He knew he would have to report on his mission to London sometime soon, and Hogan thought he would prefer telling his team first. They did deserve to know.

Hogan sat facing his men, facing his friends. Slowly, he started to talk. He was going to tell them only of his final encounter with Hitler, but found himself beginning from the moment he left Stalag 13 all those long weeks ago.

The hours ticked by and still Hogan spoke. There were times in his narrative when Hogan would pause and regroup; when Pfeiffer died, when he saw the civilians hung as he was escorted to the Führerbunker, when he carried out Fegelein's execution, when he was captured by the Russians. Some things he kept private, like his feelings of despair, his friendship with Hans and his encounter with Brigitta. A brief thought of where she was now flitted through his mind before he resumed relating his saga.

It was 0330 when the tale of his ordeal wound down and all questions were answered as much as he was going to. Hogan felt like he'd been through the wringer when he was done. He wearily headed to his bed, escorted by his team, and fell instantly into a long, deep slumber.

And just maybe he slept a little bit better for having talked about it, his dreams not as intense. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, not even to himself.


	41. Chapter 41: May 6

May 6, 1945

Hogan had spent most of Saturday with Tom. He had slept in following his late night relation of his adventures in Berlin to his team, followed by a biscuit and cup of coffee for breakfast, then headed to the hospital area where Tom was recovering.

Tom had been much better that day, the swelling giving way to livid bruises, but the pain medication was reduced and generally he wasn't as loopy. It gave Rob a chance to truly catch up with his brother and he cherished the opportunity.

While he was there, the doctor insisted on looking at Hogan's hand, at least to give it a fresh set of bandages. The stitches were healing nicely but Hogan was still having difficulty moving some of his fingers. The doctor tried to reassure him it was still early days yet, but inwardly Hogan was beginning to feel there would be some permanent damage. He hoped his gut was wrong for once, for he'd never fly again professionally if he lost the full use of his hand.

News of further German defeats came in to Major Daniels' communication centre. Denmark had been liberated by the Allies, with British and Canadian Forces liberating Holland. The biggest news of all was Großadmiral Dönitz recalling all U-boats to base, ceasing all Naval offensive operations. A couple more concentration camps also fell to the Allied troops, most notably Mauthausen which was liberated by the US 11th Armored Division.

Saturday night Hogan spent with his team again, this time being regaled with the quest of the trio from Stalag 13 as they made their way across the country to ride to his rescue. Hogan almost sprayed coffee everywhere when told of Carter's escapade with the cat locked in the closet, thoroughly embellished as only Newkirk could. He ended up almost choking and LeBeau had pounded him on the back until he could breathe again. Carter's face burned red with embarrassment over the tale but he was pleased his Colonel had had a good belly laugh.

Now it was Sunday and Hogan was getting itchy feet. As good as it was to be reunited with Mark and Tom, Rob knew he had to return to Stalag 13 to wrap everything up with a neat little bow as a present to London for the end of the war.

* * *

"Hey Rob!" said Daniels with a smile as he looked up from his paperwork covered desk.

"Am I interrupting?" asked Hogan from the open doorway to Mark's office.

"Only a weeks worth of paperwork, so no," said Mark, waving for Rob to come in and take a seat. _Had it only been three weeks ago Tom sat in that chair and I told him Rob was dead?_ Daniels banished the memory and brought himself back to the present. "What can I do for you?"

"Getting ready to head out, actually," said Rob. "Don't want to overstay my welcome."

"Funny you should mention that," replied Daniels with a frown. "Got word half an hour ago: the Russians are coming to take over Magdeburg. We're being pushed out. Something about new boundaries for dividing up Germany once the Germans surrender."

"Operation Eclipse," said Hogan with something akin to a grimace on his features.

"You know of it?" asked Daniels surprised.

"Um, yeah. Hitler had a copy and he was all too eager to show it off to me," replied Hogan reluctantly, picking non-existent lint off his pants.

Daniels' eyebrows rose so high, they almost disappeared into his hairline. "Hitler _knew_?" Daniels gave a low whistle. "Boy, bet that's going to go over well when the Brass find out."

"Yeah, let's hope they don't shoot the messenger," said Hogan, rolling his eyes. He knew he was going to be the one telling them.

"I feel for you. Anyway, it means we're officially pulling out of here within the next 24 hours so we've all outstayed our welcome," continued Daniels with a smile.

"What are you going to do with Hochstetter?" asked Hogan, getting down to the real reason he was here.

"Not sure. Rumour has it there are going to be war trials set up somewhere in the south, in the American-held portion of Germany. Most likely in Nürnburg. With what he's done to Tom and you, he'll probably get charged and tried down there."

"Then you won't mind if I take Hochstetter with me, will you?" asked Hogan.

"You _want_ to take him?" Daniels' eyebrows were doing their disappearing act again. "I figured he'd be the last person you'd ever want to see again!"

The office door opened and Tom walked in. "Want to take who where?" he asked.

"Don't you _ever_ knock?" said Daniels with exasperation.

"Why start now?" asked Tom, moving into the room. "Hi Rob."

"Does the doctor know you've escaped?" asked Rob with a stern look on his face.

"Yes, yes, relax. He discharged me just after breakfast. Quit being a mother hen," Tom replied with a scowl. "Still not on active duty though," he added. "Probably be a few weeks."

"Should I take him too?" asked Rob to Daniels. "Get him out of your hair since you're moving and he won't be able to help."

"What are you talking about?" asked Tom.

"We've been giving marching orders, Tom," said Mark. "Have to completely pull out of Magdeburg by noon tomorrow. Rob was planning on moving on as well; has to get back to Stalag 13 for reasons only he can fathom. We were just discussing Hochstetter's fate."

"Take him out and shoot him," said Tom instantly with no regret.

"Tom, we're not vigilantes," replied Rob. "No one's shooting any one without orders, is that clear?" Rob gave his brother an unyielding glare. "Anyway, he's my problem; always has been. I'm taking him back to camp."

"And you want me to go with you?"

"Only if Mark agrees. You are his Second in Command so despite you not being on active duty, he may need you to help coordinate the pull out."

"We'll do fine without him," said Mark. "We're old hands at this. I wouldn't let him do much anyway, then he'd be complaining and constantly under my feet. He's worse than a two-year old when he doesn't get his way."

"Oh, you had to remind me!" said Rob, briefly covering his eyes with his hand in mock horror. "So, want to come see my home-away-from-home for the last two and a half years?" he asked Tom.

"Yeah, sure. Beats the hell out of moving this crew and that way I can keep an eye on you," said Tom, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ditto," replied Rob. "Mark, I think we're going to need a truck…"

* * *

Daniels managed to scrounge up a larger vehicle for Hogan and his team to use. Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau emptied the car of their remaining supplies and made sure everything was loaded and ready to go. They were not very impressed when told Hochstetter would be joining them on the journey, but accepted Tom readily enough.

Tom packed all his personal belongings to take with him, not wanting to burden Mark with looking after his stuff and not knowing where exactly either of them would end up in the future.

It was now mid-afternoon and everyone was ready to go. Goodbyes, handshakes, and pats on the back were exchanged between Mark, Rob, and Tom before Mark was pulled away to look after moving details; the joys of command.

The MPs brought Hochstetter from the local police station, the Gestapo officer sporting handcuffs.

"What is this about, Hogan?" demanded Hochstetter upon seeing the Colonel at the rear of the covered truck.

"We're going on a little trip, courtesy of the Stalag 13 Travellers' Aid Society," replied Hogan, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and his good hand hooked on the pocket of his bomber jacket. He was in too good a mood to let Hochstetter get to him.

"Bah! You are planning to take me out to a field somewhere in the middle of nowhere and shoot me!" exclaimed Hochstetter vehemently.

"No I wasn't, but don't tempt me. It sounds like a good idea; one the Gestapo would have used, I'm sure," replied Hogan. In fact, Hogan knew the Gestapo had done exactly that to fifty escaped prisoners from Stalag 3 in March of 1944. "I thought I'd take you back to Stalag 13."

"Whatever for?"

"Well if you'd rather stay here with the Russians, I'm sure it can be arranged…" said Hogan.

"The Russians?" asked Hochstetter, looking uncertain.

"Yes. See the American troops are pulling back; this is Soviet territory now, or at least it will be by noon tomorrow. I'm sure they'd love to have such an esteemed guest as a Gestapo Lieutenant Colonel in their custody."

Hochstetter paled; he'd left Berlin to avoid the Russians. "I think I'll come with you."

"Thought you might," smirked Hogan.

With no more arguments, Hochstetter was helped up into the back of the covered truck, Carter and Tom providing armed escorts. Newkirk was driving and LeBeau sat beside him in the front, maps at the ready. Hogan sat right behind them, sometimes watching through the split cover at the road ahead, other times keeping an eye on the others in the rear. It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

"How much farther do we have to go, LeBeau?" asked Hogan after several hours of watching forests, rolling hills, and quaint villages roll by. They had paused briefly at the side of the road a couple of times to stretch and ease their backsides, as the benches in the rear of the truck left little to be desired in the way of adequate padding over the bumpy and pothole-ridden roads.

"We're about half an hour from Erfurt, near as I can make out, _mon Colonel_," replied LeBeau. "We should be hitting a checkpoint soon."

"That's good. It's almost 1900 and starting to get dark. We'll have to stop for food soon."

"_Oui_, that's one reason why I took us to Erfurt. There was a major base there, similar to Magdeburg, when we came through on the 23rd and I guessed we likely wouldn't be making it all the way to Stalag 13 tonight, unless we really push it. Hopefully, the base is still there and we can use their housing and Mess."

"How much farther is Stalag 13 from Erfurt?" asked Hogan, mulling over the possibilities.

"Approximately three hours," replied LeBeau. "Erfurt's only the half way point."

Hogan grunted. It was not the answer he was looking for. "Guess we're staying in Erfurt for the night. I don't want to be travelling these roads in the dark if we don't have to and all the jostling is putting a strain on Tom's ribs. Erfurt's big enough to have a police lockup for Hochstetter at least."

The group travelled on, arriving in Erfurt before it got fully dark. Carter helped smooth the way with the base commander, having dealt with him on the trip to Berlin. The commander congratulated Carter on completing his mission and made arrangements for Hochstetter's confinement overnight. Then the group was shown to the Mess and assigned cots for the night.

The base had a radio set up in the Mess, and while they ate, the group had the pleasure of hearing Axis Sally's last propaganda broadcast, joining in with the razzing and smiling at the crude comments made by the other troops listening, no one believing a word Sally said.

At the end of the broadcast, the team and Tom went to bed. Although it was somewhat early, they were all tired from the trip. They knew it would be another long ride tomorrow with the promise of another long-anticipated reunion.

* * *

A/N: The Great Escape from Stalag Luft III on March 24, 1944, had 76 POWs escape through a tunnel. The story was made into a movie in 1963, starring Steve McQueen. Only 3 of the 76 managed to successfully escape; the rest were eventually recaptured with the Gestapo executing 50 of those recaptured.

"Axis Sally" was an American, Mildred Gillars (born Mildred Sisk), who made propaganda broadcasts from Berlin to the Allied troops in an attempt to dishearten them and break down their morale. Her best-known broadcast was prior to D-Day called "Vision of an Invasion" which detailed an American mother dreaming of her son's death on the English Channel. Gillars was captured after the war and returned to the US in 1948 to stand trial for 8 counts of treason. She was convicted on 1 count for the "Vision of an Invasion" broadcast. She was sentenced to 10-30 years in prison and got out on parole in 1961. She lived the remainder of her life in Ohio and died of natural causes in 1988. She is buried in Columbus, Ohio.

There was a second "Axis Sally" named Rita Zucca, who broadcast to the Allies throughout Italy. She is often confused with Gillars, who broadcasted only from Germany.


	42. Chapter 42: May 7

May 7, 1945

The bugle reminded Hogan way too much of boot camp. The blaring noise at 0500 had long been missing from his regular service routine for years now. Even the roll call bell at the same hour during his first year at Stalag 13 had been better than this cacophony of sound. Carter had warned him about it at least.

The only thing good about it was it got the team up and moving. Not wanting to waste any time, everyone hurried through showers and breakfast, then retrieved Hochstetter from the local lock-up and headed out of town.

After another couple of pit-stops along the way, the scenery outside the truck finally began to look familiar to the weary team. Hogan felt a lump rise in his throat as he caught a glimpse of Stalag 13 between the trees as the truck approached the camp. He never thought he'd be so happy to see the place again, although it looked a little strange with the Stars and Stripes flying at half mast over Klink's office – make that former office. He ducked back inside the covered rear, thankful the gloominess covered any stray emotions which might have flickered across his face; it wouldn't do for Hochstetter to see.

Newkirk pulled the truck up to the camp gate and received permission to enter the compound. The order was issued for all German prisoners to be confined to barracks, which was handled by Sullivan's staff. Baker, Olsen and the rest of the former Stalag 13 inmates came barreling out of Barracks 2, ecstatic to see their comrades again. Major Sullivan came out of the camp office to meet the truck and the band of travelers on board.

"Hey, man! Look who's back!" shouted Baker. "It's Newkirk and LeBeau!"

The two from the front of the truck jumped down and met the crowd of well-wishers as they tried to move to the rear of the truck.

"Corporals!" spoke Sullivan, his voice carrying over the din of the welcoming committee. Immediately, the crowd fell silent and allowed the Major through to the new arrivals.

"Yes sir!" said LeBeau and Newkirk together, offering salutes.

Returning the salute, Sullivan said, "Welcome back, men. I hope with such a large vehicle you were able to all return?"

"Yes, sir," said Newkirk, undoing the truck's hatch. "With a few more along for the ride, as it were."

First to appear out of the back was Wolfgang Hochstetter, with Carter coming out close behind. There was some shock through the crowd as the Gestapo man was recognized. Sullivan appeared the most surprised as he was not expecting anyone to arrive in handcuffs.

"Major Sullivan, sir!" said Carter, crisply saluting.

"Sergeant Carter, good to see you not looking any worse for wear. And who have we here?" asked Sullivan returning the salute off hand as he gave the prisoner the once-over.

"This is Wolfgang Hochstetter, former Lieutenant Colonel with the Gestapo. He was the one who arrested Colonel Hogan, sir."

Sullivan's eyebrows shot up in amazement. He quickly signalled for a couple of his guards to come and take charge of Hochstetter and to escort him to the cooler for safe keeping, making special note to put him in solitary and away from Colonel Klink.

"Is that everyone you brought back, son?" asked Sullivan gently, unsure of where things stood with retrieving their former team mate. He didn't want to rock the boat too much if things had turned out poorly.

"Oh no, sir, not at all," said Carter as the feet of another passenger appeared out of the back of the truck. The rest of the body soon appeared and came to attention before Sullivan.

Murmurs began working their way through the crowd as people wondered who this person was who looked so much like their former commander despite the black eyes, bruises, and Army fatigues.

"And you are?" prompted Sullivan.

"Captain Thomas Hogan, sir!" cried Tom instantly, saluting the Major.

"He's Colonel Hogan's younger brother, sir," added Carter as much for Sullivan's benefit as everyone else's. "Hochstetter kidnapped and assaulted him in Magdeburg because he thought the Captain was the Colonel. Tom's off active duty due to broken ribs so he came with us to testify against Hochstetter; plus Tom wanted to see where his brother had been held for so many years." More murmuring circulated through the gathering.

"I see. And you have permission from your Commanding Officer to be here?" inquired Sullivan with an arched brow.

"Yes, sir! Major Daniels, my CO, signed off on orders to accompany these men and ensure Colonel Hochstetter arrived to your custody."

"Very well then, Captain. Is that all, Sergeant?"

Before Carter could reply, the tarp parted once more and Colonel Hogan jumped down from the truck bed. Newkirk caught Hogan subtly by the elbow and steadied him, his landing a bit off-balance with his arm still in its sling. There was a brief moment of silence before cheering broke out from the former prisoners of Stalag 13. Sullivan took in the reaction as well as noting the eagle on the collar of this latest arrival and put two and two together. The similarity to the Captain didn't hurt either.

"This certainly is a surprise. Colonel Robert Hogan, I presume?" said the Major, saluting sharply. "Major Joe Sullivan commanding Camp 13."

Hogan returned the salute. He had wanted to be the last off the truck, knowing what the reaction would be to his arrival. Also, he wanted to see how this Major Sullivan dealt with Hochstetter and his brother. So far, Sullivan appeared to be a man Hogan could work with.

"Nice to meet you Major," replied Hogan. "I like what you've done to the place. Nothing like a few Stars and Stripes to cheer a place up. Makes the barb wire sparkle."

"Uh, yes, sir," stammered Sullivan, feeling slightly off-balance at the Colonel's comments. "I have to admit I'm a little confused. By all accounts, you're supposed to be dead, sir. Sergeant Carter explained the situation about the camp before he left, but he never mentioned you were still alive. As I recall, his mission only stated he was to retrieve a team member."

"Classified, Major. The execution was fake, that's all you need to know," replied Hogan with a tight smile.

"Yes, sir. No matter, it's an honour to meet you; something I never dreamed would happen, that's for sure. Will you be taking over command?" asked Sullivan, years of experience teaching him not to pry.

"Not at this moment, Major. I still have to report to London and tie up some loose ends, so feel free to carry on. We'll get together at some point. I'm going to bunk in my old room so don't worry about that either."

"Right, sir. Will do," replied Sullivan as Hogan was swept away by his friends and team mates, leaving him alone by the truck in the middle of the compound. Shrugging, he assumed he was dismissed and returned to his office.

* * *

Tom trailed behind the throng of men who all but carried his brother into Barracks 2. He could understand their enthusiasm on being reunited with him as Rob had always been well-liked wherever he went. He could tell his brother was thoroughly enjoying the attention and he didn't want to crash Rob's party. Hanging back gave Tom a chance to scrutinize the camp where Rob had spent the better part of the last three years.

What he saw ate at his guts. The ramshackle buildings, the guard towers with their machine guns, the barbed wire fencing, the dog kennels, the cinder block building with bars on the windows Sullivan had referred to as the 'cooler', all spoke of hard conditions and life on the edge of survival. He knew from experience winters could be harsh in Germany and yet the barrack buildings looked like he could blow them down. There was no way they could have been warm, and judging by the layers of patching on the roofs, they were prone to leaking when it rained as well.

The Camp office building looked far sturdier and Tom judged most of the decent-looking buildings probably had housed the German guards and Kommandant. He also spotted the Delousing Station, Mess, Rec Hall, and Motor Pool.

_It was all so confined_, thought Tom, figuring it would take him about ten minutes or less to pace out each side of the compound. He knew he would have gone stir-crazy inside of a week. _How had Rob done it? Why had Rob stayed?_ He knew the reputation of Stalag 13 with its zero escape record. _Had Rob given up?_ He wouldn't believe his brother had been cowed by these Germans or it would have shown in their time together; and yet Tom knew there had to be more to the story, how else would Rob have ended up in Magdeburg?

Tom nursed his conflicting thoughts as he went inside the barracks, having seen where Rob had been dragged off to. He slipped in the door and looked around, gathering another first impression of Rob's home-away-from-home. He didn't like what he saw any better than outside. Tom noted the less than sturdy bunks lining the walls with their thread-bare blankets and painfully thin mattresses, the single stove to heat the large space, the lone sink, the table and benches where everyone was gathered, and the door to the room in the rear – a washroom? Closet? Rob's private quarters?

Tom hovered about the edges of the group and was handed a cup of coffee. He casually took a sip and almost spit it back out again. It was more like battery acid than any resemblance to coffee! He watched his brother take a sip and a blissful look took over Rob's face as he savoured the brew. Tom's heart went out to Rob at that instant, for everything his brother had put up with in this horrible place – and to be responsible for over four hundred men at the same time no less! Tom gripped his coffee cup so hard his knuckles turned white, his frustration at not coming to his brother's rescue eating a bigger hole in his gut than the coffee. _Will Rob ever forgive me for leaving him to rot in this hell-hole?_

Rob looked up from where he was seated at the table, read the tense expression on Tom's face and saw the strangled grip on the cup handle.

"Uh, guys, could you excuse me for a moment?" said Rob as he rose, not really asking. He went over to where Tom was standing. "Tom? You okay?" Tom looked Rob in the eye but didn't say anything. Rob knew there was trouble brewing in his brother's mind and he needed to head it off right now. Blowing out a puff of air, Rob touched his brother's elbow and indicated with a tip of his head to follow him into the back room.

Rob entered his office. It was much the same as when he'd left, with a few extra cartons of supplies stacked in the corner, remnants of the pooling of Red Cross packages. Rob closed the door behind Tom and waved for him to sit on the lower bunk. Rob took the stool by the desk, awkwardly crossing his arms around the sling. There was no mistaking the fire in his eyes however.

"Alright little brother, out with it. What's bugging you?" Rob figured the frontal attack was going to be better to get Tom to talk.

Tom glanced up at Rob before burying his gaze in the coffee cup again. Then he stood and paced the tiny room as best he could, taking in the faded pin-up girls on the wall, the water stains on the ceiling, the desk which looked like a kid in Grade 8 shop class had nailed together, grinding his teeth the entire while. At last he could keep quiet no longer.

"I'm sorry. I knew it would be bad but this…" Tom swallowed. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"You're sorry for what?" asked Rob, totally confused. He got up and stopped Tom's erratic pacing by placing one hand on his shoulder, concern radiating from his eyes. "Hey now, what's this about? I don't think you've done anything you need forgiveness for, have you?"

"I left you here, damn it! Don't you understand? This cess-pool! Three years you've been stuck in this dump with no chance of escape and I did nothing to come and get you out! You must be livid at me – want to disown me or something. How can you even still speak to me?"

To Tom's amazement, Rob actually chuckled. "Is that what you think? That the only way I could get out of here was for you to come bust me out? Tom, the reason why Stalag 13 had a perfect record was because I initiated a no escape policy. No one was _allowed_ to escape from Stalag 13 on my orders!"

At Rob's words, Tom looked horrified. "How could you do that to your men? Give them no hope of ever getting out of here? To not even try? What did the Nazis do to you to make you agree to that?" Anger was colouring Tom's voice now. "Was it Hochstetter? I've read reports on what the Gestapo have done to their prisoners, so don't be ashamed Rob."

Rob shook his head. "No, no, no, you don't understand. Hochstetter had nothing to do with it. The camp Kommandant, Colonel Klink, was basically incompetent – had the lowest efficiency rating in the entire Luftwaffe until I initiated the no escape clause. The entire camp could have walked out the front gates and he wouldn't have noticed! We had to keep him around because he was easy to manipulate and that was essential to our mission here.

"Tom, there's something I've been keeping from you. I should clear it with London, but to hell with them – I trust you and you need to know. I work for Allied Intelligence – have done since shortly after I arrived here and set up a base under the camp. The reason I was in Magdeburg was because I'd been working undercover in Berlin. Faking my death was all part of the setup to secure my cover. Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau went to Berlin on orders to fetch me – pulled me out by the skin of my teeth. Tom, my code name is Papa Bear."

There was a heavy silence as the two brothers stared at each other, one in disbelief, the other willing the first to believe.

"P-P-Pa," Tom cleared his throat. "Papa Bear? You?" Tom snorted in derision, whirling to face the window and breaking eye contact. "No! You can't be. Being Papa Bear is much too dangerous. You're a flyer – what do you know about espionage? Papa Bear's a legend!"

"It's true, Tom. All of it. I'd like to show you the Operation, when you're ready. It's the reason why I stayed. Why all of us stayed. It was our duty to impede the Germans as much as possible. We passed on intelligence. We moved downed flyers through contacts to the coast and returned them to England. We worked with the local Underground. We did sabotage like blowing up bridges, trains, and ammo dumps. We flagged ball-bearing and ammunition plants for bombing runs. We helped defectors. You name it, we did it in order to shorten the war and ensure an Allied victory."

"So if I had come to bust you out…" said Tom softly, turning back to Rob, and suddenly wanting very much to believe. It was like being told your brother was really Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny; just too much to take in all at once.

"You would have messed up the best thing the Allies had going on in this war. I don't think London would have taken too kindly to that, little brother," said Rob with a grin.

"My brother is Papa Bear? Man, I'm glad I didn't know that before now! I would have been worried sick for you, even more than I already was. No wonder that Hochstetter fellow wanted a piece of your hide if you've been pulling this over on him for the last two and a half years. It can't have been easy."

"No, it hasn't been. There have been numerous close calls where we only managed to hang on by our fingernails. Having Klink here helped. There was also Schultz, the Sergeant of the Guards. He always turned a blind eye to everything so long as he wasn't about to get into trouble or sent to the Russian Front. Neither one towed the Nazi party line. Between the two of them, it made it possible to carry out our mission successfully. We're the best-kept secret in all of Germany – and it has to stay that way, Tom, until London decides otherwise. You can't tell anybody you know – not Mom or Dad, Mark, or any of the rest of the family. We're Classified, Need to Know, Top Secret – understood Captain?"

"Yes, sir," said Tom, responding instantly to the use of his rank, as Rob had known he would.

"So do you understand why everything had to be the way it was?" asked Rob gently, relieved his brother seemed to have come around. "I don't regret a single minute of the time I spent here working on the Operation. I was due to be grounded soon before I was shot down. Maxed out my flight time and they wanted to promote me. You know me, I wouldn't have been happy flying a desk for the duration. So this was my choice, my sacrifice for the war."

"I understand," said Tom, nodding. "And I couldn't be more proud, big brother. So where is this secret operation?" asked Tom, making a show of looking under the mattress and knocking on the bed frame.

Rob laughed at his antics. They really did think too much alike sometimes. "I'm really glad you weren't a German – you aren't too far from the truth. If you try that out here in the main room…"

* * *

Tom lay back on the bottom bunk in Rob's quarters. The depth of the Operation Rob had run here still completely boggled his brain even after seeing it first hand. He had just finished the guided tour of the setup downstairs and couldn't believe how much Rob had accomplished. The maze of tunnels alone was enough to stagger the mind, without the radio room, uniform storage, chemical and photo labs, and armory to name a few. It was like a rabbit warren, with passages crisscrossing back and forth underneath the compound, accessing practically every building in the camp. Tom felt sure he'd be lost in minutes without Rob to lead the way.

Rob was still underground with Baker. After finishing the tour back in the radio area, his brother had indicated he'd put off calling London long enough and sent him upstairs to rest, but Tom knew it was so he'd be out of earshot of whatever Top Secret information Rob was going to pass on next.

Tom tried to make himself comfortable on the bunk. It really was difficult. He supposed it was something you just got used to out of necessity, just like he'd gotten used to sleeping in foxholes or burnt-out buildings.

He tried to imagine himself in Rob's position. He'd been in charge of men before, but only a small unit. He knew his brother had held command of the 504th Bomb Group before being a POW, but to suddenly find yourself in charge of four hundred plus men of various nationalities while being held by the enemy would have been slightly overwhelming. The fact Sergeant Carter had risen to the challenge in Rob's stead was a testament to Rob's ability to bring out the best in his inner command circle. He obviously chose his team well.

Tom yawned; the early awakening, long trip, and emotional ups and downs over the secrets revealed by Stalag 13 taking their toll on his slowly recovering body. As he continued to mull over everything Rob had shown and told him, Tom couldn't help drifting off to sleep.

* * *

"Baby Bear to Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks," Baker's firm baritone sounded out over the airwaves to London. He repeated the call sign and waited for an answer.

"Goldilocks here, Baby Bear. Haven't heard from you in a while. What news do you have?" came the reply from the tinny speaker.

"Baby Bear reports all cubs have returned to the den," said Baker.

"Jolly good show, old chap," replied the disembodied voice of Goldilocks. "I will pass word on to General Butler."

"If the General is there, Goldilocks, there's someone here who would like to speak with him," relayed Baker.

"Is it urgent, Baby Bear? I'm afraid the General isn't to be disturbed at the moment," answered Goldilocks.

Hogan indicated to Baker to hand over the microphone. He had waited this long for a secure line and wasn't about to be put off.

"Goldilocks, this is Papa Bear. Request you interrupt General Butler immediately," he said in his strongest command voice.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Goldilocks, please respond. This is Papa Bear, requesting to speak with General Butler, over," Hogan repeated his communiqué.

"Papa Bear is that truly you?" came Goldilocks' reply at last.

"Yes, Goldilocks. Papa Bear came home to the den with the cubs. Cubs' mission was a success. Have vital intel for General Butler if he can be disturbed."

"I'll fetch the General immediately. Please hold Papa Bear, and welcome back!"

Hogan dismissed Baker, wanting to be alone when he shared his knowledge from Berlin with the General. It took approximately ten minutes before the airwaves came to life again, Hogan pacing the entire time.

"Papa Bear, this had better not be a joke. I left some rather irate Generals to take this call."

"Now don't get your knickers in a twist, General," replied Hogan with a smile.

"Hogan, dear fellow! Good to hear your voice. I had thought Goldilocks was playing a prank. After all this time, we'd feared the worst I'm afraid. Should have had more faith in you, especially in light of the miracles you've pulled off for us before," replied Butler. "Now getting down to business. We'll need to set up a time for a thorough debrief…"

"I figured as much but I had some intel to pass on which couldn't wait," interrupted Hogan.

"Alright, but I need to know one thing before you begin: what of Hitler?" asked Butler.

"He's dead, General. Thought you would have heard already – it's last week's news!" replied Hogan.

"Yes, yes, we were told he was dead. Just wanted to know if you could confirm. We'll get the full details at the debrief, but there is some thought of a conspiracy to hide Hitler to escape reprisals or to resurrect the Reich in the future," said Butler.

"No, he's dead. I was there when he breathed his last so you can put any and all rumours to the contrary to rest, sir," relayed Hogan. He took a deep breath to relieve some of the tension building in his shoulders.

"Thank you Hogan, that is most welcome news. Now what information did you want to relay?" asked Butler.

"Two things, General. First, I thought you might like to know Göring was not in Berlin when it fell. He left for Berchtesgaden on 20 April and had a falling out with Hitler over assuming command when Hitler became trapped in Berlin. To the best of my knowledge, he's still there as Hitler had Bernard Franks arrest and detain him there."

"We have some American troops close to the area so we'll send them in immediately. Let's hope they're lucky; I'd hate for the bastard to escape. What was the other thing, Hogan?"

"This one's a little more personal, General," said Hogan, hedging a bit.

"Well, I think we owe you one or two…" replied Butler.

"I ran into Lieutenant Colonel Hochstetter while in Berlin. Long story short, he told me he had spies watching my parents' house…"

"You're sure he wasn't trying to put one over on you?" asked Butler.

"He was definitely gloating about it and seeing as he had a gun pressed to my head at the time, he didn't have any reason to lie," declared Hogan hotly.

"Good grief…yes, I'm sure your debriefing is going to be most interesting. I'll see what we can do. There is a department at the FBI responsible for tracking down collaborators and infiltrators. They may already know of something. I'll get back to you as soon as I can but I'll have to route it through the Pentagon."

"Thank you General," said Hogan, much relieved.

"Anything else, Hogan?" asked Butler as a loud ruckus broke out behind him.

"No, sir. Something else going on, General? Sounds like quite the party starting…"

"Ah, you might as well know now, it'll get out quick enough. General Alfred Jodl has surrendered the German forces unconditionally in Rheims, France. At 2301 hours tomorrow, the war in Europe is officially over. Congratulations, Hogan. You certainly played a huge role in bringing this war to an end."

"It's over? It's really over? After all this time, it's hard to believe."

"Well, believe it son. Unfortunately I have a ton of meetings to attend in regards to the surrender over the next little while, so let's schedule your debrief for 9 May at 1400. I hate to postpone it so long, but things should have hopefully settled somewhat by then."

"Agreed, General. Next contact is 1400, 9 May. And thanks for the good news. Papa Bear over and out."

"Roger that, Papa Bear. Goldilocks over and out."

Hogan set the microphone down and powered off the radio. Then he sat heavily on Baker's stool, thankful he was alone. _The war was over. The war was finally over._ It was a little surreal. Everything they had fought for, worked towards, planned, schemed, hoodwinked, deflected, redirected…it had all paid off. Hogan closed his eyes as he felt elation rush through his veins. He felt like he had taken on the world and won.

As the feeling ebbed, he opened his eyes and looked around the tunnel. Not only was the war over, but the Operation was over as well. And as quick as the rush had sent him soaring, the finality crashed over him in a wave of sadness. The winds of change were blowing; with the war over, the team would disperse as people returned to their homes and tried to pick up from where their lives had been interrupted. The world was going to be different now, there was no doubt. The war with the Japanese still continued, women were out in the workforce, technical advances were sure to change every day life. Hogan suddenly felt very unsure of himself and his future.

As long as the war went on, he had a purpose here at the camp. Life had been challenging but exciting, the pressure to outsmart the Germans and handle whatever they threw at the team next, to thwart whatever dastardly plan or evil invention had been dreamed up. It was all over now. Hogan subconsciously tried to wiggle his bound fingers as visions of a desk piled with stacks of paper in a closet-sized office at the Pentagon danced in his head.

Hogan had spent little time over the course of the war envisioning what he would do after it was over. With an Allied victory, he supposed he would return to the States and maybe teach at the Air Corps flight school or run one of the air bases. Maybe he would have joined air operations in the Pacific Theatre for a while, fighting the Japanese. He would go where the Army sent him as always. Now it was all questionable due to his injury and it would be months yet before a final verdict would be rendered. Would he be honourably discharged? What could he do in the civilian world? The only thing he was trained in was flying. Sell used cars maybe? Hogan supposed it did no good to dwell on it. He would face whatever opportunities or obstacles life threw in his path as he always had, head on.

Hogan rose from the stool and walked around the tunnels a little, his thoughts returning to the Operation. He wondered what plans London had for it. The tunnels had been wired for detonation numerous times over their duration here, but Hogan had always been glad things had never gotten so bad as to need to evacuate everyone. He didn't really want to demolish their work here, but it would be up to London as to whether they would remain Classified or not.

Hogan wandered through the clothing room, fingering the collar of the odd German uniform here and there, remembering the times when LeBeau fetched the actress Suzanne Martine from Paris to marry Lieutenant Claude Boucher, when Newkirk impersonated a Gestapo officer to steal a Tiger tank, and when Carter was so exhausted serving in two armies at once. Fond memories looking back knowing everything turn out well, but stressful, dangerous, and worrisome at the time.

He was depressing himself and he knew it, but he couldn't derail the trip down memory lane. Maybe it was his time in Berlin, away from all this. He needed to remember the friendships forged under enemy soil. He wandered passed the cot where Kinch had cat-napped when on radio duty and wondered how he was doing. It had been too risky to contact him since he'd volunteered to leave the Operation and return to England a year or so ago. Hogan briefly daydreamed of the team returning to London and Kinch meeting them on the tarmac…

Hogan shook himself out of his reverie. He needed to call a staff meeting and pass on the news of the end of the war. He needed to meet with Schultz to let him know he was still alive. He needed to visit Klink in the cooler for the same reason and try to get him released to the camp in general. He needed to… A loud grumbling from his stomach interrupted his train of thought. He needed to eat dinner!

Hogan looked at his watch and was startled by how much time had passed. He had wasted enough time wool-gathering. No doubt the guys upstairs would be beginning to worry about him being down here alone for so long.

As if reading his mind, Hogan heard the trap door to the bunk rattle open and LeBeau called down from above.

"_Mon Colonel?_ Dinner is ready!"

"On my way, LeBeau," Hogan called up, heading towards the ladder. He paused and took one last look back at the radio room and smiled. _The war was over!_

* * *

After a delicious LeBeau-inspired dinner which everyone raved about, having missed the delectable treats conjured up by the little French chef while he was off in Berlin, Hogan asked Carter to fetch Major Sullivan and his Second in Command for a meeting in Barracks 2.

Once Sullivan and Captain Nichols had arrived, Hogan called everyone's attention.

"Men, as several of you know I was in contact with London this afternoon and have some very important information to pass on. I was informed General Jodl has signed an agreement for the unconditional surrender of the German forces. As of 2301 tomorrow, the war will be officially over. Congratulations! We won!"

There was a brief moment when you could hear a pin drop as the men processed Hogan's words. Then like a bubble bursting, chaos suddenly erupted as everyone started talking, shouting, and carrying on at once. Backs were slapped, hands were shaken, and a few eyes watered a little.

Hogan stood amongst the bedlam and grinned.

* * *

A/N: The unconditional surrender of the German forces was signed at 0241 on May 7, 1945 by General Alfred Jodl as the representative of Großadmiral Karl Dönitz, President of Germany as appointed by Hitler in his will. It came into effect at 2301 on May 8, 1945, Central European time.

The FBI was frequently called in to track escaped prisoners and to arrest those helping them.

There is a Hogan car dealership in my area and every time I see a car with the dealership logo on it, I can't help but picture Hogan wearing a 1960s plaid suit using his persuasive golden tongue to sell used cars to unsuspecting customers.

Hogan's remembrances in the uniform room were from the following episodes:

LeBeau: Season 2, Episode 25, Reverend Kommandant Klink (which also had the introduction of Major Hochstetter)

Newkirk: Season 1, Episode 2, Hold That Tiger

Carter: Season 5, Episode 20; One Army at a Time


	43. Chapter 43: May 8

May 8, 1945 – Victory in Europe (VE) Day

Major Sullivan made the announcement of the imminent surrender of the Germans and the end of the war to the camp population at morning roll call. The German prisoners took the news well; most were relieved the fighting would be over despite an uncertain future. Sullivan could not provide them with any details as to what would happen after the general surrender or for how long they were to remain incarcerated, but promised to let them know as soon as he could.

It was mid-morning when Hogan sent Carter to fetch Schultz. He found him sitting on the bench outside his barrack looking a little sad.

"Hiya, Schultz!" said Carter happily, stopping in front of the large former guard.

"Carter! You're back! Did LeBeau and Newkirk come back too?" asked Schultz, his chubby features lighting up in delight at seeing his former prisoner.

"Sure did! Made it back yesterday. Sorry I didn't come to see you sooner," replied Carter, scuffing the dirt a little with the toe of his well-worn boot.

"That's okay, Carter. I'm sure you had to report in to Major Sullivan and things. I guess you came in when we were confined to barracks," said Schultz. "So was your 'Bear Hunt' a success?"

"Oh, boy, was it! Not only did we bring home the one we went to get, but got his brother as well!" exclaimed Carter.

"Carter, let me tell you a secret: there are no bears in Germany," said Schultz as if he were breaking the news to a little boy that his make-believe friend wasn't real.

"That's where you're wrong, Schultz. And to prove it to you, I'm going to take you to our 'bear'. So come on!" said Carter, grabbing Schultz by the arm and attempting to pull him off the bench. Fortunately, the large man decided to come with Carter or else Carter wouldn't have had a hope in moving Schultz. As they headed towards Barracks 2, Carter kept talking. "You know, our bear is a very special bear."

"I'm sure he is Carter," replied Schultz placatingly as he trudged along beside the American Sergeant.

"You aren't going to believe your eyes when you see him. You're going to be so surprised!"

"Carter, at my age, I don't particularly care for surprises."

"Oh you'll love this one, Schultz. I promise or I'll be a monkey's uncle!" swore Carter.

"Monkey's…This doesn't have anything to do with your monkey business, does it Carter? Carter? Please, Carter…"

By this time they had arrived at Barracks 2. Carter just smiled in response and ushered Schultz inside.

LeBeau and Newkirk were seated at the table playing cards while some of the others lay on their bunks or folded laundry. To Schultz, it was such a feeling of déjà vu, he was a little overwhelmed. How many times had he come into these barracks over the previous three years to see a scene just like the one before him?

"Cockroach!" exclaimed Schultz. "It is good to see you back again. And the Englander, Newkirk. It has not been the same around here without you."

"We missed you too Schultzie. In fact, I have a special treat for you. I just finished making an apple strudel and put it in the oven. An hour from now it will be perfect for eating."

"Apple strudel? For me?" asked Schultz. "_Wunderbar!_" Schultz smacked his lips in anticipation.

"Oi, Schultzie! 'ow's about we play a little poker later? After yur strudel per'aps?" suggested Newkirk, shuffling the cards and doing a few tricks.

"Poker? Um, maybe Newkirk," hedged Schultz. He either won big or lost huge whenever he played with the Englander and he wasn't sure he was up to the challenge today.

"That's alright, mate. Just a friendly game, no money. For old times sake." Newkirk gave a smile.

"Come on Schultz," said Carter, pulling him away from the table. "Don't want to keep him waiting."

Carter went over to Hogan's office door and knocked. Hearing a grunt, he opened the door and leaned his head inside.

"Schultz is here," said Carter.

"Told him anything?" asked Hogan, who was sitting at his desk making notes.

"Nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. Just that he's come to meet the bear we retrieved while we were away."

"Okay. Show him in," said Hogan, putting his pencil back in its tin can holder. He got up and walked over to the window, looking out onto the compound.

"Come on Schultz! He doesn't bite!" Hogan could hear Carter outside the door.

"But what is he doing in Colonel Hogan's old quarters?" asked Schultz, finally entering through the door. He spotted the man at the window with his back towards him. "Carter, there's no bear in here, just..." At that moment, Hogan turned around. "Colonel Hogan."

It took a moment for the reaction to kick in.

"C-C-Colonel Hogan!" Schultz gasped, eyes round as saucers.

"Hiya Schultz!" Hogan gave a little wave. "Long time no see!"

"Colonel Hogan? Is it really you?" asked Schultz, moving a little closer but still shying away from the specter before him. Hogan gave a nod to Carter, who exited the office, closing the door behind him.

"In the flesh, Schultz." Hogan stepped over and poked Schultz in the chest, causing the poor Sergeant to jump a mile.

"But-but-but-but how? Major Hochstetter – the firing squad…" Schultz had lost the ability to speak in full sentences.

"Faked, so I could leave camp for an undetermined length of time. There was no way we could have kept Klink from finding out I wasn't here and we didn't want you to get into trouble."

"Thank you, Colonel, but why would you need to leave camp only to come back?"

"Do you really want to know?" asked Hogan, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ja…nein…ja…I don't know. Will I be in trouble if I know?" asked Schultz nervously.

"Well, there's no Russian Front to worry about any more." Hogan leaned in and whispered, "I was doing some undercover work for Allied Intelligence." He leaned back and winked.

"Undercover…Intelligence…Oh, I know I shouldn't ask but…where?" said Schultz, closing his eyes and fearing the worst.

"Berlin," replied Hogan smugly, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Berlin!" gasped Schultz. "Nein, nein, nein. That is where the Führer was and the General Staff and and and…"

"Yup. Met them. Hitler kinda liked me. Felt I showed great potential," Hogan grinned at Schultz's discomfort. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Colonel Hooogaaan! Please, please, please tell me you didn't meet the Führer?" Schultz was getting quite agitated.

"Meet him? I worked for him! Relax, Schultz. It's not like he's going to show up here. You do know he's dead, don't you?"

"Ja, ja. Major Sullivan made an announcement..."

Just then, the officer door opened and Tom strolled in.

"Hey Rob! You need to…oh, sorry. Didn't realize we had company," said Tom, stopping on the other side of Schultz, whose jaw was dropped in surprise.

"Colonel Hogan…who is this man?" asked Schultz, pointing a finger at Tom.

"Careful, Schultz. You're starting to sound like Hochstetter," warned Hogan.

"But-but-but he looks just like you," said Schultz, amazed.

"He's my Doppelgänger," said Hogan playfully. "Just teasing. Schultz, I'd like you to meet Captain Thomas Hogan, my younger brother. Tom, this is Sergeant Hans Schultz. He was Sergeant of the Guards as well as our barracks guard for the last two and a half years."

"Nice to meet you," said Tom, shaking Schultz's pudgy hand. "I understand you 'looked the other way' a lot when Papa Bear here was up to his tricks. Thanks for that. Rob would never have made it through the war else."

"Papa Bear? Is that what Carter was talking about with his 'bear hunt'? They went to find _you_ in Berlin!" Schultz looked ever so pleased with himself at figuring it out.

"Yes, Schultz. My code name is Papa Bear but it's supposed to be a secret!" The last part was aimed directly at Tom, along with a glare.

"Ooops," said Tom meekly. "Guess I'm not cut out for this cloak and dagger thing. Just give me a gun and stick me on the front lines – that's where I'm happiest!"

"No more front lines for you," said Rob. "You're staying safe from now on. Besides, the war'll be over by eleven o'clock tonight."

"Except in the Pacific," countered Tom. "Maybe I'll get reassigned out there."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," grumbled Rob. "Besides, you have to let those ribs heal first."

"Speaking of which," said Tom, "The reason why I came to find you. You need to go see the doctor. I just came back from a check up and now it's your turn, O Overprotective One."

"And how are you?" asked Rob facetiously.

"Healing nicely, thank you," replied Tom smarmily.

"What happened to you? Both of you?" asked Schultz, watching the conversation bounce back and forth like a tennis match.

"Tom here, was the brief guest of Hochstetter, who mistook him for me," started Rob.

"And Rob here, had a misunderstanding with some Russians while in Berlin," finished Tom, not to be outdone.

"Now boys! You are worse than my kinder at home. How your poor mother put up with the two of you…"

"We're just getting warmed up Schultz," said Rob, smiling widely.

"Yeah, you should see us when the others join in too!" added Tom.

"Others? There are more of you?" asked Schultz, slightly stunned.

"Oldest of five," said Rob, indicating himself. "Then there's Susan, followed by Tom. Maggie came next, and last is Scott. Tom and I are the only two in the war."

"Um, or not," said Tom hesitantly. "First Lieutenant Scott Hogan was due to be deployed to the Pacific yesterday. I thought you knew?"

"What! Oh God, no, I had no idea. Even if Mom had sent a letter, it would have taken at least two months to get here and I haven't _been_ here for over a month."

"Sorry to drop the bombshell on you like that, Rob. It never even crossed my mind you wouldn't be in the loop," apologized Tom.

"It's alright. I should have expected it, knowing he was going to sign up as soon as he was old enough. Guess I just lost track of how fast that would be," said Rob. "Hey Schultz, we'd best be getting you back to the barracks. Don't want you to miss your exercise period."

"Ha, ha. Jolly joker," groused Schultz as he headed towards the office door. "Colonel Hogan, can I tell the other guards you're alive?"

"Sure, Schultz. I'm not going to hide in the barracks so they'll likely see either of us crossing the compound on occasion, if they haven't already. It would probably be good for them to know why they're seeing double."

"Well almost double," put in Tom. "After all, you do have a lot more grey hair then I do!"

"Gee thanks, Tom," said Hogan with a scowl. "You can blame the guys out there for those!"

"_Danke_, Colonel. I am sure Langescheidt will be very happy when I tell him," interrupted Schultz before the brothers could get going again. "Um, one more little thing..."

"What is it Schultz?" asked Hogan, returning his attention to the rotund German.

"The Kommandant. He's been in the cooler since Colonel Gillespie came and took over the camp. Not that I'm worried about him or anything," hedged Schultz.

"But you're worried about him," finished Hogan with a knowing look. "I was planning on paying him a visit this afternoon. I might even get him released into the general population if he's been good. It will depend on what Major Sullivan's orders were. I'll let you know how he's doing."

"Thank you Colonel Hogan. You boys always were good to me despite your monkey business. I am so happy you are alive. It was a horrible, horrible thing Major – I mean _Colonel_ Hochstetter did."

"Thanks, Schultz. I appreciate the sentiment. Now, you'd better get back before they think you've deserted," said Hogan, opening the door to his quarters.

"Actually, LeBeau promised me strudel in an hour. After that, I will have desserted!" laughed Schultz as he left the room.

Hogan chuckled and shook his head as he watched Schultz leave the barracks still chortling at his own joke.

* * *

"Hey Colonel," called Carter as Hogan entered the barracks. Hogan was headed towards his office, but paused at Carter's greeting. "LeBeau says lunch is almost ready."

"Thanks Carter, but I don't really feel up to it at the moment. Maybe a bit later, huh?" said Hogan as he continued to quarters.

Carter turned to follow the Colonel's progress across the room. "Everything alright at the doctor's?" he called to his CO's retreating back.

"Just peachy," replied Hogan, shutting his office door behind him.

"Well how do you like that?" said Carter to himself, putting the red eight on the black nine. "Some people just don't like to share."

Inside his quarters, Hogan was sprawled across the bottom bunk. He had gone to the medical hut like Tom had asked; well, more like Tom had badgered him to go and Rob knew he should set a good example or Tom would never go back himself. So reluctantly, Rob had gone.

It wasn't the same. Sergeant Wilson, the camp medic when Klink had been in charge, had been sent back with the majority of ex-POWs after the liberation and Hogan found he missed Wilson's banter and no-nonsense bed-side manner. The doctor attached to Sullivan's unit had been very stiff and formal, and where Rob knew how far to push his Sergeant, he found the new doctor brusque and stand-offish.

The doctor had examined Hogan's hand and decided it was healed well enough to remove the stitches. Rob had spent the next half hour gritting his teeth while the doctor wordlessly yanked each one of the tiny knots out of his skin. Wilson would have maintained some kind of conversation to keep Rob's mind off of the procedure, but this doctor remained steadfastly silent, not even offering his name to his patient or an apology when pulling out a particularly stubborn stitch caused it to bleed.

By the time it was over, Rob was in a foul mood. His hand was now slathered in cream to prevent infection in the tiny holes where the knots once were, and wrapped in gauze before being bound in the splints and put back in its sling. The doctor wouldn't speculate on if Hogan would regain full use of his hand, although he felt the small bones were beginning to knit. He then proceeded to lecture Hogan for ten minutes about keeping it clean and immobile, a pointless speech since Hogan had heard it before and tuned him out after a few sentences. In the end, Hogan had stood up and walked out just to shut him up.

Hogan's head was pounding. Having the stitches removed was not a pleasant experience so now he lay here on the bunk attempting to relax and will the headache away. He still had to face Klink this afternoon and didn't want to do it feeling less than a hundred percent. His gut was telling him it wasn't going to go well. The last time he had been in the cooler, it had been courtesy of Hochstetter the night before his execution. Unwillingly, his thoughts returned to that long night over a month ago, but Hogan pushed them away.

He suddenly remembered he once had a stash of ASA tablets hidden away in one of the many concealed compartments in his room and wondered if they were still there. Hauling himself up off the bed, he crossed to the secret panel and opened it. Sure enough, the small container was still inside. He fumbled a bit with the lid, having to open it one-handed but soon had a couple pills in his palm. Dry-swallowing the medication, Hogan returned to his bunk and waited for them to take effect. It wasn't long before he fell into a light doze.

A little while later, Carter poked his head through the door to let Colonel Hogan know lunch was ready. Finding him sound asleep, Carter tip-toed in and covered him up with the blanket from the top bunk and then stealthily retreated to the outer room again, leaving his commander to rest.

* * *

After his brief nap, Hogan was feeling much better and even had some lunch. Afterwards, he headed to Major Sullivan's office.

It was a little strange not seeing Luftwaffe guards stationed outside the door to the Kommandantur, and even stranger to see Captain Nichols sitting at Hilda's desk. Hogan thought of the number of times he'd breezed into the outer office and snuck a peck on the pretty blonde's cheek, catching her unawares. He would have been in for a surprise if he hadn't known Hilda had left the camp a couple of weeks before his meeting with Hochstetter. He shuddered at the thought of his lips meeting Nichols' stubbled face by mistake.

Nichols snapped to attention on Hogan's entrance.

"As you were," said Hogan brusquely. "Is Major Sullivan available?"

"Yes, sir. I'll just…"

"No need. I'm used to seeing myself in," said Hogan, heading towards the inner office door.

Hogan gave the door a sharp rap, more of a warning than he ever gave Klink, before swinging the door wide and entering the office. He knew just how much pressure to put on the door to ensure it closed behind him without slamming. Major Sullivan looked up from his paperwork startled, the brief thought of an "Enter" forming on his lips by the time Hogan had dropped into the chair in front of the desk. Sullivan wasn't sure if he should rise in the face of a superior officer or to wave protocol in lieu of said superior lounging in the chair in front of him. Watching Hogan toss his crush cap onto the corner of the desk, Sullivan opted to remain seated.

"Make yourself at home, Colonel," said Sullivan with a smile. "Something I can help you with?"

"Klink," said Hogan briefly.

"What about him?" asked Sullivan, unsure exactly what the Colonel wanted to know.

"What are your orders regarding him?" Hogan looked around the office, noticing the subtle changes Sullivan had made; most notably the picture of Hitler with the hidden microphone was gone from the wall, as was Klink's humidor and picklehaub from the desk. Hogan found he missed sneaking those cigars.

"Same as the other camps we liberated. He was to remain in lockup until the war was over and he could go to trial," stated the Major firmly.

"Is he doing okay in there? He's been locked up for what, three weeks now?" pressed Hogan.

"Guards go in and check on him regularly, bringing him his meals. Sergeant Carter was a frequent visitor until he left on his mission; I'm not sure if he's been to see him since coming back. Other than that, he's pretty much left alone," replied Sullivan, obviously unconcerned with Klink's treatment other than him not being abused.

"Is he ever allowed to go outside? He must be going crazy in there," mused Hogan, knowing from experience how quickly the four walls got boring to look at and started closing in, and that was with the ability to skip out and go into the tunnels.

"No, and he's never asked. He did request blank paper, a lot of it, and some pencils. It looks like he was doing some writing. I saw no reason to deny the request."

"Writing, huh? I suppose there's no chance of letting him out to the general population? He's not a flight-risk and certainly treated us humanely, following the Geneva Convention as much as his superiors allowed him, as I'm sure your testimonies from the Allied prisoners attested."

"Yes they did. Unfortunately, these are blanket orders meant to apply to everyone. I'm not sure we should be allowing for 'special cases' – just to protect our own backsides when things go to trial."

Major Sullivan was taking the hard line stance on obeying orders; no nonsense, by-the-book as Hogan had feared. He wondered how much he should push the man, knowing he could always pull rank as the last ace up his sleeve. Hogan thought maybe he should visit Klink first and see what state he was in before making too much of a fuss, possibly getting Sullivan to allow some concessions.

Rising from the chair, Hogan thanked Sullivan for his time and headed off to the cooler.

* * *

Hogan paused on the top step of the porch and surveyed the camp. The Germans were playing volleyball, a sight which just seemed wrong after so many years of seeing Allied prisoners doing the same thing. He spotted Carter catching some rays on the bench outside of Barracks 2 and made a quick decision. Hogan called him over and met him half way across the compound.

"Sullivan says you often visited Klink in the cooler," said Hogan getting straight to the point.

For a brief moment, Carter wondered if he was in trouble.

"Uh, yes, sir. Is that a problem?" asked Carter, squinting in the sunlight.

"No, not at all. I was wondering if you wanted to do it again. He's my next stop and I was thinking it might be better if you went in first," said Hogan.

"Well, sure if you want me to. What do you want me to tell him?"

"Not too much – don't want to spoil the surprise," replied Hogan grinning. He thought for a moment and then asked Carter one more question. Nodding his approval, Carter headed off to the cooler while Hogan went to fetch something.

Carter headed over to the cinderblock building and noticed the guards were outside for a change. Seeing he was headed inside, the one Corporal on guard commented, "You really don't want to go in there right now, sir," as he passed. Puzzled, Carter carried on anyway, curious to find out what was going on inside and hoping it wasn't anything bad.

The assault which met his ears on opening the door was enough to know what the guard was referring to. Braving the attack on his ears, Carter stepped inside and took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior of the cooler building. He quickly headed to Colonel Klink's cell in order to preserve his hearing.

"Kommandant!" called Carter. With no reply, he tried again even louder. "Colonel Klink!"

Klink stopped his violin playing to see who was calling his name and Carter sighed in relief as the cacophony echoed briefly around him and died.

"Sergeant Carter?" said Klink in surprise.

"Hello, sir. Thought I'd pop in to let you know I'm back," said Carter.

"That was very thoughtful of you Sergeant. Did your assignment go well?" asked Klink, feigning interest. He got too few visitors and despite the young American being of such a lower rank, Klink found himself wanting to talk a little with a somewhat familiar face.

"Boy sir, did it ever!" exclaimed Carter. "But I can't really talk about it. How did your writing go? There's not much paper lying around."

"Major Sullivan boxed most of it and put it in storage. I…I didn't quite finish it but I'm hoping to soon," said Klink with forced brightness.

"How far did ya get? If you don't mind me asking," replied Carter, curious as always and not really picking up on Klink's reluctance to talk about it.

Klink paused and blinked at Carter for a moment. "Up to the end of March," he admitted quietly. "Couldn't seem to find the right words after that."

"Why not into…oh…uh, yeah, well…I'm sure the rest of it is quite interesting," stumbled Carter, finally realizing Klink only wrote up to Colonel Hogan's execution day. "I'm sure you'll finish it some day, probably very soon."

"Perhaps, Sergeant. We'll see," said Klink. A long silence lapsed between the two.

"Guess I should be getting back, sir," said Carter suddenly, breaking the looming uncomfortable quiet. "There's someone else waiting to come in for a visit. He just wanted me to find out how you were doing first before he came in."

"Another visitor? For me?" asked Klink, surprised. No one other than guards, Carter, and occasionally Major Sullivan had been in to see him and Klink couldn't even begin to guess who it would be. "Who is it?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, sir." There was a soft clunking noise and both men realized the cooler door had been opened and shut. There was no direct line of sight from Klink's cell to the main door, so the identity of the person entering still remained a mystery. Taking that as his cue, Carter turned to leave. "See ya later, Colonel."

"Good bye, Sergeant," said Klink absently, watching down the hall for a glimpse of his next visitor.

Carter walked down the hall and around the corner, spotting Colonel Hogan who was just inside the door leaning with his back against the wall. His head was tipped back and his eyes screwed shut and Carter could tell the Colonel didn't know he was there. Carter stomped his feet and scuffed the floor a bit as he walked, alerting Hogan to his presence. Carter watched as his Colonel visibly pulled himself together.

"Everything okay, sir?" he asked softly.

"Fine, Carter," came the standard reply. Hogan looked into the concerned features of his Second in Command and relented a little. "Just a few unsettling flashbacks. Haven't been in here since Hochstetter…"

"Understood, sir," replied Carter. "Colonel Klink has some issues around that too. Wrote his memoirs up to the end of March and couldn't write any more. Other than that, he appears to be doing okay. I interrupted his violin practice," Carter added with a grimace.

Hogan nodded in acknowledgement and pushed himself off the wall, straightening his cap.

"Good luck, sir."

"Thanks, Carter," replied Hogan as the other man slipped out the door.

Klink had watched Carter disappear and heard voices coming from the direction of the door. They were low enough Klink couldn't hear what was being said or recognize who was speaking. He sat down on the bunk waiting for his visitor to appear, wondering who had come to see him. Major Sullivan? He hadn't been in for a week. A lawyer perhaps? Although the war wasn't over so charges couldn't be laid yet. Schultz? They hadn't allowed the former guard to visit before now and nothing new had happened to change that.

Klink heard the cooler door shut again and guessed Carter had left, but still no visitor appeared. He picked absently on the strings of his violin as it sat in its open case beside him. Finally foot steps approached.

The lighting in the cooler had never been good and at that moment, Klink wished he had one of the guard tower spotlights to shine on the figure nearing his cell because there was no way he was seeing what his eyes were telling him he was seeing. Klink slowly rose off the bench and took a hesitant step towards the cell bars. Then another. And another. He reached the bars the same time his visitor did.

The two men stood and stared at each other, neither speaking. The minutes ticked by and still neither moved, each holding the other's eyes and taking in the subtle nuances on their face. Klink swallowed, attempting to moisten his parched throat. He could feel his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears.

"How?" The word was but a whisper but it served to shatter the silence.

"You always said if there was ever to be an escape, you hoped it would be me," said Hogan.

Klink nodded, recalling their conversation after the debacle with Captain Martin, the German mole. He thought about Hogan's words and frowned. "Escape?"

"Courtesy of the Gestapo. Hochstetter's boss was one of us," said Hogan. Actually, he didn't really know what nationality Norbert was, but Hogan figured it didn't really matter in the long run. Norbert's affiliation with the Allies was somewhat shady but the less Klink knew the better; Hogan wasn't even clear on all the details.

"Oberst Norbert worked for the Allies? So Hochstetter…"

"Didn't have a clue it wasn't real. _I_ didn't even know it wasn't real until I woke up in the barracks afterwards."

Klink took a moment to take it all in. It was a lot to digest but he suspected there was a lot more he still didn't know. He didn't even know if he wanted to know.

"Why?" The question slipped out before Klink could think about it.

"I was needed elsewhere." Hogan shrugged. There wasn't much he could tell Klink; it was bad enough he'd let Tom in on the Operation without authorization. "It's hard to get reassigned when you're locked in the 'toughest POW camp in all of Germany'."

Klink studied Hogan again. "Hochstetter was right. All those years, all the things he kept coming into camp and accusing you of, you really did them, didn't you? All the sabotage in the area, you were the one responsible. You really did waltz in and out of this camp day and night with nobody knowing!"

"My team all knew and they aren't nobodies!" Hogan pointed out.

"Aha! You finally admitted it!" crowed Klink triumphantly.

"And it matters now, because?" asked Hogan sarcastically. Hogan checked his watch. "In roughly nine hours the war will be over. General Jodl already signed an unconditional surrender."

Hogan watched as Klink deflated. "You really did play me for the fool, didn't you?" said Klink. Hogan shrugged a little uncomfortably. It sounded like something to be less than proud of when phrased in such a manner but the ends had justified the means at the time. "The zero escapes record – also engineered by you?" Hogan nodded once. "I see."

And he did. Deep in his heart, Klink knew someone with his track record could not have turned around a prison camp with such success without some intervention on the part of the inmates. There was a reason he'd never earned his General stripe, and Hogan had just let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.

"I hear you were writing a book," said Hogan, changing the subject.

Klink thought of the memoirs he'd spent the last few weeks writing down in explicit detail. Written while he was still wearing his rose-coloured glasses on what truly went on around here. He thought of all the exaggerations he'd so carefully crafted to paint himself in the best possible light. "Utter bunk," he declared. "Waste of precious paper. Burn it."

"It can't be that bad," offered Hogan.

"Hogan, you've just shown up from beyond the grave and proven my entire career for the last two and a half years has been a charade carefully crafted by you. I believed I was writing the Epic Adventures of the Iron Eagle during World War Two. What makes you think anything I wrote is worth a wooden nickel?" Klink was trying to mask his sudden flare of anger.

Hogan was about to say something along the lines of it being a good laugh, but the expression on Klink's face had him holding his tongue lest he do more damage to the man's ego. Klink really was wounded about his role in the goings-on in camp, and grudgingly, Hogan had to see his point of view. If Hogan had been in Klink's shoes and found out the last three years had been a lie…

Hogan unzipped his bomber jacket a little and reached inside, showing Klink the corner of the folded chess board he had hidden there. "Peace offering?"

Klink was touched Hogan had brought the chess set but didn't let it show. He had always enjoyed their games together, a chance to be equals away from the demands of their men. Klink gave a reluctant grunt before moving to clear away the items on the sole table in the cell. He then moved the table so it butted up against the bars and sat in the chair. Hogan meanwhile had dragged over a chair from the guard's desk, then unfolded the playing board and set up the men while reaching through the cell bars. He gave Klink the honour of being White.

Silence settled over the men again as they began to play. Neither offered any small talk and the only sound was the soft clunking of the chess men as they were moved around the board. Soon the moves started to take longer as they got into the heart of the game, strategizing and planning several moves ahead.

"I grieved for you, you know?" said Klink suddenly as he stared at the board. "Did your men tell you I came to pay my respects afterwards?"

"No, they never did. I'm sorry; it was not my intent to put anyone through this. The higher-ups even went so far as to notify my family. They still don't know I'm alive, well, other than Tom."

"Tom?"

"My younger brother. I happened to cross paths with him on my travels and brought him back to camp. Maybe you'll get to meet him."

"I'd like that. You've never spoken of your family. Is he a flyer too?" Klink moved his bishop and captured Hogan's knight.

"No, regular Army, Infantry. My youngest brother, Scott, is also with the Air Corps. Just got deployed to the Pacific."

"Sorry to hear that. I hope he comes home safely."

"Thanks," replied Hogan, capturing one of Klink's pawns. "So do I."

More moves made in silence. Black and white men danced across the checkered playing field. Some fell, some escaped, just like the war.

"Your turn for the busted flipper I see," commented Klink as he studied the board, mentally mapping out his possible moves.

Hogan snorted back a bark of laughter, remembering when only one of seven captured Commandos had been brought to Stalag 13, and that one with his arm in a sling. Hogan had managed to convince Klink to request the others be brought to camp as well, since they were all part of the latest caper to blow up an ammo dump. "Hand actually. Misunderstanding with some Russians."

"Bad?" Klink knew he didn't want to know where or how Hogan came into conflict with Soviet soldiers. It was a survival instinct born of many years trying to stay under the Nazi and Gestapo radar. Hogan wasn't likely to tell anyway.

"Crushed by a pipe. Shattered most of the bones. Not sure how much use I'll get back. May never fly again," said Hogan dispassionately. The more he told the tale, the less emotional toll it carried.

"Will it matter? You're likely to get your General's star after the war, especially for running a sabotage unit from a POW camp."

Hogan shrugged. "Might not accept it. Not sure what I want to do after the war."

Klink looked at the man outside the bars. "You'll accept it. You're a career military man, like myself. Only you're a real soldier, one without delusions of grandeur like me."

"Don't put yourself down. You had your moments," consoled Hogan, snagging Klink's castle.

Klink scoffed. "Who in their right mind would want a military maneuver called the 'Dipsy Doodle' named after them? And a Bronx cheer being a symbol of respect? Yes, I certainly had my moments."

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of when you recognized my voice on the broadcast when we negotiated the trade for Field Marshall Von Heinke for Brigadier General Barton. You caused a few moments of panic there. It was a close one."

"One?" Klink harrumphed. "Out of the last two and a half years, you can only come up with one example where I almost ruined your plans?"

"I'm not going to rehash my entire time at Stalag 13 just to massage your failing ego – I did enough of that when I was a prisoner!" exclaimed Hogan sharply. _Damn it!_ He immediately regretted what he said and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying more. He looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with the man inside the cell. "I'm sorry. That was harsh."

"But true and deserving. I think you'd better go," said Klink tightly, knocking over his king to signal the game was over even though he wasn't in check mate. "I can't dismiss you like I use to, so please humour me. I'd leave if I had the option," he added bitterly, eyes blazing.

Hogan stood up and walked half way to the cooler door. This wasn't how he'd envisioned the visit going. He hadn't been sure how the news of his survival would be received, but an angry, petulant Klink was not what he had bargained for. And where had the hurtful words come from on his part? He turned back to the man in the cell knowing he needed to make some sort of amends.

"I made the most of a bad situation," he began. "I saw a chance to take advantage of what had been given to me, shape it, and use it to end the war as quickly as possible while ensuring Hitler would not succeed in his bid for world domination. I thought it was something you wanted too. I'm sorry I used you, in so far as hurting your feelings, but I'm not sorry about the results. Hitler had to be stopped at all costs; I believed it when I started this Operation and I believe it ten-times more strongly after my last assignment.

"Believe it or not, you were critical to our success here. How many times did we save you from a trip to the Russian Front or deflect the Gestapo so you would keep your command? Probably more times than you realize. We _needed_ you, whether you were aware of the fact or not. Perhaps we made you too successful. Zero escapes is a virtually impossible record to accomplish after all, but we couldn't afford to take the chance you'd be reassigned and ruin everything we'd achieved. We kept you in the dark to keep you safe from your superiors. Remember that."

Hogan finished speaking and left the cooler, leaving Klink to contemplate his parting words.

* * *

The confrontation with Klink had left a sour taste in Hogan's mouth, which in turn affected his mood for the remainder of the day. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to put Klink down so, but it stuck in his craw and ate away at him. Despite the urge to go to bed early and end this disaster of a day, Hogan knew he'd regret not staying up until 2301.

The men had been busy in his absence. Several had been conscripted by LeBeau to help prepare a victory feast in the camp kitchen. Others had dug out the Christmas decorations and added garlands to the outside of the barracks. While it was a little odd to be seeing paper chains and snowflake cutouts in May, it did add a taste of festivity to the normally dull camp décor.

A bonfire had been built in the center of the compound, ready to light. Bottles of homemade wine sat chilling in tubs beside the buildings. Baker had even rigged a loud speaker on the side of Barracks 2 to tie into the radio so they would be able to listen to the BBC broadcast. Everything was ready for the big event.

By 2245 everyone was milling about in the compound, including the Germans, anxiously awaiting the zero hour. Watches were checked every minute in hopes time had passed faster than it felt. Minutes were crawling by. It was worse than New Year's Eve.

At 2250, Baker turned on the radio broadcast and caught the tail end of Tommy Dorsey's I'll Never Smile Again with Frank Sinatra, followed by Vera Lynn singing White Cliffs of Dover. At 2255 a special broadcast came on, causing everyone to stop and listen.

"This message goes out to the 'Unsung Heroes'. We wish to thank you boys for what you have done to bring us to this day. Your selfless sacrifices have been great in number and most remain untold. While we may never fully know everything you have done in service to your countries, take pride in knowing your efforts have brought peace to our lands. We salute you and congratulate you for a job well done."

There was a brief moment at the end of the broadcast where everyone stood still, absorbing the words which acknowledged the work the team from Stalag 13 had done over the course of the war. Smiles broke out amongst the team members as the radio went on to rebroadcast the highlights of Churchill's speech, which had been made earlier at 1500.

"…the evil-doers lay prostrate before us ... Advance Britannia. This is your victory! It is the victory of the cause of freedom in every land. In all our long history we have never seen a greater day than this. Everyone, man or woman, has done their best. Everyone has tried. Neither the long years, nor the dangers, nor the fierce attacks of the enemy, have in any way weakened the independent resolve of the British nation. God bless you all."

As 2300 approached, gasoline was poured on the piled wood for the bonfire, which had been the special project of Carter and Newkirk. They had promised they had something special up their sleeve to set the thing ablaze. At precisely 2301, Newkirk, self-proclaimed decendant of Robin Hood, stood up on the roof of Barracks 2 while Little Deer Who Runs Swift and Sure Through Forest perched on the roof of the Commandant's office. Both had blazing arrows which they fired down into the compound at the waiting woodpile. Instantly the gasoline-soaked timbers ignited to the cheers of everyone watching. The party had officially begun. The war was over for real this time.

Hogan was glad he had remained awake to see this. He watched while several men joined togther and wove a long line around the compound while singing Roll Out the Barrel the entire time. Wine was flowing freely, although he only had one glass. Tom was at his side and for this, Rob was infinitely grateful. He suffered through a bear hug from Schultz, who crushed him so hard in his enthusiasm he thought he'd have to return to the medical hut.

The guys eventually dragged him, with only superficial protests, into the conga line. Spirits were high and ultimately, Hogan found himself letting his hair down and freely joining in. He had missed the liberation party and after the stresses of the last few weeks, and even the previous few years, it felt strange to be able to allow himself to relax entirely.

The war was over. There was no more need for clandistine meetings, harrowing missions, plotting and planning to keep one step ahead of the enemy. No more guns, no more bombs, no more asking anyone to pay the ultimate price for freedom. As Hogan leaned against his barracks and watched the festivities unfold around him, all these little trivial things ghosted through his mind. A smile broke out on his face and he began to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh as the joy he felt bubbled up from within. Giving a loud 'whoop' he snagged his brother and threw himself head-first into partying like there was no tomorrow.

* * *

From inside his cell, Klink heard the celebrations and sighed. In solitary, Hochstetter fumed.

* * *

A/N: Sergeant Wilson appeared in Season 2 episode 4: Operation Briefcase. He doesn't have an official first name.

Hogan's first words to Klink come from the end of Season 6 episode 8: Eight O'clock and All is Well. Klink's line is "Hogan, if there ever is an escape, I hope it's you."

The "busted flipper" comment was from Season 1 episode 6: The Prisoner's Prisoner.

Klink's Dipsy Doodle is from Season 6 episode 13: The Gypsy

The Bronx cheer, or raspberry, is from Season 1 episode 4: The Late Inspector General

Von Heinke and Barton are from Season 2 episode 17: The General Swap.

The Unsung Heroes broadcast was used in Season 1 episode 24: How to Cook a German Goose by Radar to identify Corporal Walter Tillman as General Tillman Walters.

The blazing bow and arrow was used in Season 3 episode 30: Drums Along the Dusseldorf to blow up an ammo truck passing the camp.

The camp celebrated the end of the war previously in Season 3 episode 21: War Takes a Holiday.

Excerpts from Churchill's speech courtesy of BBC History website.


	44. Chapter 44: May 9

May 9, 1945

It was mid-morning before people began to stir the next day. The partying had carried on well into the wee hours. In fact, the bonfire still smouldered in the compound, the remains nothing but ashes now. Many, both German and Allied alike, were paying for their overindulgence in the alcohol department, nursing sore heads and red eyes.

Hogan had not partaken of too much wine, although he had had his share of several glasses. His voice was rough from speaking loudly to be heard over the general din, as well as participating in too much singing. Tom was still asleep in the bunk below as Hogan made his way through his morning ablutions and headed out of the barracks.

Hogan made his way to the Mess, only to find he had beaten the regular kitchen staff there. He sighed and started a pot of coffee, then scrounged through the cupboards and refrigerator for some already prepared food. It reminded him of when he was Erlich Strauss and had to make his own breakfasts, when he didn't visit the hotel café to flirt with Brigitta. Hogan smiled at the thought.

While he worked, he thought about Klink and found enough food for two breakfasts, nibbling on his own as he made his way through the kitchen. Hogan wanted to visit Klink before his debriefing at 1400, hopefully to diffuse the situation and restore their tenuous relationship. Since it appeared Hogan was the only one up, he realized the prisoners hadn't been fed yet. Hochstetter could wait – it would be good to let the Gestapo man have a taste of his own medicine as Hogan was sure he had denied food to too many of the men and women he had interrogated over the years. Klink however, deserved better.

Hogan tried to pile Klink's breakfast on a tray, but soon found he couldn't carry it very far with only one hand. There was no way he would be able to make it across the compound and still have anything edible remain on the tray. Forsaking that idea, Hogan wrapped the few biscuits he'd found in a napkin and shoved it in his sling, then grabbed the cup of coffee in his good hand and set out. Doors were an issue, and he found he had to set the cup down to get the door open, then prop it with his foot before retrieving the mug and carrying on.

The door to the cooler closed with a thunk behind him, an ominous sound which made him shiver. Hogan took a steadying breath and headed towards Klink's cell.

Klink was standing waiting for the arrival of what he assumed would be a guard with his breakfast. At the sight of Hogan, Klink turned to face the rear of his cell with his arms crossed over his chest, not acknowledging the American in the least. Hogan took it for what it was – a snub. Klink still did not want anything to do with him.

Reaching through the bars, Hogan deposited the coffee cup and biscuits on the table, which still had the chess board set up on it with its fallen white king.

"Good morning, Komm – Colonel," said Hogan, amending Klink's title. It was a tough habit to break after calling Klink Kommandant for so many years. "I've brought some breakfast. I'm afraid it's not much – the kitchen staff are still sleeping off the effects of last night's celebrations but it should tide you over until a proper lunch can be brought..."

Hogan tailed off as Klink failed to acknowledge his presence. He waited in silence for a few moments, idly tapping his good hand against his pant leg. When Klink still didn't turn around, Hogan sighed.

"I'm sorry about what I said yesterday. It was completely uncalled for and I am not sure where it came from. I could blame a number of things, such as the stress I've been under for the last month, or my injury, or maybe even a hidden need to be able to be free to speak my mind truthfully to you without hiding behind basket weaving contests and the like. I don't know. But I want you to know you did come close to foiling our plans on more than one occasion – the incident with Barton and Von Heinke was just the first one to come to mind. I'll leave you to eat in peace. If you do find you want to speak to me again, have a guard fetch me as I won't be coming back unless I know you wish to see me. I'm sorry we have to part under such circumstances, but I do understand completely. Take care, Colonel, and I hope everything works out for you in the end."

Hogan finished speaking and strode towards the cooler's exit, his footsteps echoing hollowly, when he heard Klink call to him.

"Hogan – wait."

Hogan stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around, leaving Klink to address his back for a change. He heard Klink take a deep breath and let it out slowly before he began to speak.

"Stalag 13 was my last chance at command," Klink started. "I'm not proud of the fact I washed out of every possible posting the Luftwaffe could invent for me. I don't know what my fate would have been if you hadn't engineered my staying here – Russian Front or dishonorable discharge for incompetence. Maybe the firing squad?" Klink gave a nervous laugh and Hogan turned around to face the cell. "I have to admit my initial reaction was shock you were still alive and anger you had manipulated me so. As enemies, it would have been completely inappropriate for you to include me in any of your plans. Fundamentally I understand, and yet as a colleague of equal ranking whether deserved or not, I feel disappointment at being excluded from something this big. Irrational I realize given our positions but a human reaction never-the-less.

"In hindsight," continued Klink while he paced a bit, "would I have wanted to know the truth about everything you were up to? All the happenings in camp? Probably not. You know as well as I, I can't hold my tongue in the face of a superior officer or any member of the Gestapo no matter what their rank so in that sense, you were wise to keep me in the dark. I did a lot of thinking after you left, and I asked myself 'Would I have openly helped you if I had known?'. Pompously, my initial response would have been 'yes' knowing now how the whole thing turned out, but the more I considered everything, I realized it was a vain answer. I don't think I would have had the courage to maintain that kind of ruse for such a long period of time without spilling the beans.

"You know I am not a brave man. There were a few times when my efforts to prove I had any courage jumped in before I fully thought through any dangerous repercussions. Most of the time, I was just happy you had a justification for the strange goings-on which happened in and around the camp. Perhaps it was my subconscious way of helping you – by accepting all your bizarre explanations. You were correct in your assumption I did not want Hitler to rule the world, no matter what it means to the German people now the war is over. So before you leave, I must thank you Hogan, for helping to end this war one day sooner."

Hogan nodded once in acknowledgement. Inwardly, he was flabbergasted at Klink's speech. He didn't ever recall hearing the man say so much with absolutely no boot-licking. "Been practicing that have we?" said Hogan cheekily.

"A little," mumbled Klink, surprised to be caught outright.

Hogan walked over to the cell bars. "Your coffee's going cold. Made it myself you know."

Klink reached for the cup and took a sip of the lukewarm brew. "This is real coffee," he said in surprise. "The guards never bring me anything like this. Another peace offering?"

"You're welcome," replied Hogan, neither admitting nor denying whether it was or not.

Klink reached for a biscuit and bit a hunk off. It had been a long time since dinner, and the meals weren't all that plentiful. "Rematch?" he asked around a mouthful of crumbs.

Hogan stared for a moment at Klink, assessing if the issues between them truly had been laid to rest, and the olive branch Klink was offering to restore their tenuous friendship. Then he sat on the chair still sitting outside the bars from their game yesterday and began to reset the chess board, wordlessly accepting the offer and wiping the slate clean of their discord. Klink was a simple man who wasn't the type to hold a grudge, for which Hogan was grateful somehow. He wouldn't have thought Klink's feelings meant so much to him.

The ex-Kommandant continued to munch and sip while the game got underway. "You have breakfast already?" asked Klink while moving a pawn.

"Sort of. Had a cup of coffee while scrounging your biscuits. Wasn't too hungry – LeBeau did a victory feast which we didn't eat until well after midnight. Sorry you missed it," replied Hogan as he blocked Klink with his rook. "Besides, I couldn't carry a tray with this…

"Busted flipper," the two men said in unison. Klink and Hogan chuckled and Hogan swiped the last biscuit. They were going to be alright.

* * *

1400 came quickly. With the late start to the day and the visit to Klink, Hogan found himself pushed to get to the radio in time. He had Baker establish contact, then dismissed him. All the men had orders to stay out of the tunnels while Hogan was on this important call, even though Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau knew all about his adventure in Berlin.

"One moment, Papa Bear, we're transferring you to the conference room," came the tinny voice over the wire.

"Standing by," acknowledged Hogan. He wasn't sure how this was going to work; any debriefings he'd done in the past had been in person with a command rank officer and a transcriber.

"Hogan, are you there?" came the voice of General Butler.

"Yes, sir. I take it we're connected successfully then," replied Hogan from his stool in front of the radio.

"So it would seem. We've taken the liberty of piping you directly into the main conference room as there were so many people interested in hearing your report," said Butler.

"I'm touched, gentlemen. To whom do I have the honour of addressing?" asked Hogan.

"Along with myself, we have General Barton, General Walters, Group Captain Roberts, General Boland, Air Marshal Woodhouse, General Patton, and General Eisenhower. We also have a couple of ATS Sergeants doing the transcribing."

Hogan felt his body start to tingle and his mouth go dry. General Patton _and_ General Eisenhower were sitting in on his debriefing!

"I'd salute, sirs, but it doesn't transmit well over the wire," jested Hogan, falling back on his humour to settle his sudden nerves.

"Understood, Colonel," replied a voice Hogan didn't recognize. "I've only just been brought up to date on your Operation and undercover mission in Berlin. Absolutely incredible. I must commend you for your bravery and sacrifice. You and your team must be the best kept secret of the war. I'm glad you were on our side."

"Thank you sir. I'll pass that along to my men," said Hogan. "If I might make one request before we begin sirs?"

"What is it Hogan?" said Butler.

"Well, you all know who you are speaking to, as I'm the only one on the end of the line. Unfortunately, I am not as familiar with all your voices and cannot see who is speaking. So I was hoping you could identify yourselves so I'll have a clue who I'm addressing."

"Of course Hogan," came the reply. Each man present in the London meeting room spoke and identified themselves. Hogan was then able to match the voice he didn't recognize to General Eisenhower.

"We received good news today, Colonel, about the intel you gave us a few days ago," said Butler. "Göring was in Berchtesgaden, just as you had said he would be. He was captured by the US Army and is now in custody awaiting war crimes trials."

"Glad to hear it General," said Hogan, his leg bouncing out a jittery tempo. "He has a lot to account for. Any word on the other matter yet?"

"Not yet. It was passed to the FBI as promised however. Right then, let's get down to business shall we?" said Butler. "Start at the beginning then Hogan."

Hogan took a calming breath and recalled those many weeks before, when he first got the radio transmission to meet with Little Jack Horner, aka Hochstetter. Putting his thoughts in order, Hogan toggled the radio's talk switch, and began to report.

* * *

A/N:

General Barton – The General Swap - Season 2, episode 17

General Walters – How to Cook a German Goose by Radar - Season 1, episode 24

Group Captain Roberts – A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London - Season 3, episode 5 (an RAF Group Captain is equivalent to a Colonel)

General Boland and Air Marshal Woodhouse – The Big Dish - Season 4, episode 24 (an RAF Air Marshal is equivalent to Lt. General, or 3 stars)

General George S. Patton – never in the original series, although Hogan often used the dig "when Patton comes through the gates" on Klink. Known as 'Old Blood and Guts', Patton was a 4 star General who was appointed Occupational Commander of Bavaria after VE Day.

General Dwight D. Eisenhower was Commanding General, European Theatre of Operations USA in 1942, and based in London. On Dec 20, 1944, he was promoted to General of the Army with 5 stars – a rank only active during wartime. He was appointed Supreme Allied Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force and had his headquarters in Rheims, France, where Jodl signed the unconditional surrender. After VE Day, he was selected as Military Governor of the US Occupation Zone and based in Frankfurt Am Main.


	45. Chapter 45: May 11

May 11, 1945

The last two days Hogan had spent in the tunnels on the radio with London. The debriefing was longer than anyone had expected, and with the attending Generals required to be present at other meetings, it stopped and started irregularly. LeBeau often appeared with a bite to eat for lunch or dinner if a session was running long, then disappeared back upstairs. In between, Carter or Newkirk would pop in with a cup of coffee to keep his throat lubricated against the constant talking before silently returning to the barracks. It was uncanny how they managed to appear just when he was facing a difficult portion of the mission and Hogan found himself bolstered by their phantom-like appearance. Other than those occasional brief visits, Hogan had been completely alone throughout the retelling of his ordeal.

Hogan fully intended to wrap it up today, although he was not looking forward to it. The previous session had ended with the events of April 27th before time had run out. The remaining few days of his time in the Führerbunker were emotionally intense, from Fegelein's execution, to meeting Eva Braun, attending Hitler's wedding, and finally their suicide and Hogan's failed attempt to stop it. No doubt the Generals would also want to hear of his escape from Berlin, which entailed his run-in and capture by the Russians as well as his second near-execution before being saved by his team.

Hogan was literally drained both emotionally and physically at the end of each session. He had a lot to account for while in Berlin and the Generals questioned him on many of his decisions. He had deflected and changed countless orders while being Pfeiffer's assistant; the Generals were appalled at what could have happened if the orders had been left to stand as issued. A few of the changes Hogan was challenged on, but once learning of the original wording, the review board was happy to let slide. Hogan had done his best in a bad situation and managed to survive, with the Allies benefiting a hundred-fold.

After each gruelling debrief, Hogan often sought out company to take his mind off of the emotional turmoil stirred up by the session. Often it was Tom or his team, sometimes it was a chess game with Klink. Surprisingly, his dreams were not as intense as they had been before beginning the debriefing and he felt like he was finally coming to terms with all he had experienced.

* * *

"…so when the troops were ordered out of Magdeburg, we also pulled out, with Lieutenant Colonel Hochstetter in custody and Captain Hogan along to testify since he was off active duty. The return trip was uneventful. We over-nighted in Erfurt and arrived at Stalag, er, Camp 13 on 7 May, at which point I made contact with Goldilocks and General Butler," finished Hogan, thankful he'd reached the end of his journey.

"Well, Colonel, you've had quite the adventure. It's been an extremely interesting tale, truth be told," said General Eisenhower. "Good job all round. I'm sure it has been fairly emotional for you rehashing everything. Such a toll on both body and mind. You'll be receiving a commendation of the highest order, Hogan, and your men as well. Now I must leave to catch up on all the things I've postponed in order to be here the last two days. I wouldn't have missed this debriefing for the world. General Patton will brief you on what happens next. Good day."

"Good day, sir and thank you," replied Hogan, pleased with the praise from the Supreme Commander. Much more satisfying to the soul than the compliments paid to him by Hitler.

"Alright then Hogan," began General Patton. "We've been in discussions outside of your debrief and have reached a consensus on a few items. First, and foremost, Erlich Strauss doesn't exist. He has _never_ existed, if you understand my meaning. Any inquiries will be blocked, all record of your Berlin mission wiped. Records in Berlin will be cleansed as a matter of course. You and you men will not speak of it ever again. Is this understood?"

"Perfectly, General," replied Hogan. "I will make sure my core team are informed. They are the only ones who know the name I used; the other men in camp only know I was in Berlin but they will also be told of the non-disclosure."

"Thank you Colonel, I trust you will carry the order out immediately," said Patton. "As for the fate of your Operation, it was decided partial disclosure would be in order. In light of the pending trials for Hochstetter and Klink, certain details will have to be entered into evidence which would necessitate some knowledge by the court of the Operation. As such, you are hereby ordered to leave everything in tact as is, in the event something is required to pursue prosecution. Full details on how much information will be released will be decided at a later date, at which time, sensitive information will be returned to London. Until the public disclosure however, the Operation will remain under wraps."

"Understood, sir, and thank you," replied a very relieved Hogan. "You have no idea what that will mean to my men. They were all dedicated to the cause, sir, and it didn't seem fair for them to have to carry the burden of never escaping, and possibly inviting their families and peers to question their loyalty and courage. Thank you for making it possible for them to share some of the truth about their lives here. It is something incredibly important to them. You will have restored their sense of pride, sir."

"Now one last item before I too need to head off to other pressing concerns," continued General Patton. "There is a small matter of your rank."

"What's the matter with my rank?" demanded Hogan when the General failed to continue straight away. He was dreading where this was heading, although not terribly surprised.

"You're still wearing eagles. I'm sure you were aware you were up for promotion prior to being shot down. Your promotion to Brigadier General came through eighteen months ago. We need to send some stars your way immediately."

Hogan's mind spun furiously. _Eighteen months ago?_ He thought back to what was happening roughly around that time. The only thing unusual which sprang to mind was when he was ordered home and Crittendon was sent to replace him. 'A hero's welcome' he'd been promised. He knew Generals weren't normally kept prisoner and were often traded for equally high-ranked personnel. It all fit.

"If I recall correctly, I was ordered home at the time but I refused. What makes you think my answer will be any different this time?"

"At the time, you believed you were abandoning your men to Group Captain Rodney Crittendon," answered General Butler. "Knowing the Group Captain, I would think your sense of duty to your men would have won out over accepting a promotion."

"Darn right! Uh, sirs," replied Hogan, remembering his military decorum. Hogan winced. At least he didn't call them 'boy' like Carter would have.

"So now you have no reason to turn it down. The war is over, your men are safe. The Operation will be a known quantity before the end of the year. I don't see the problem," said General Patton. There was a long pause.

"It's the hand, isn't it Rob?" asked Group Captain Roberts. While Hogan's best friend had been mostly silent throughout the debriefing, he knew the way Rob thought. "You aren't settling you know. You truly earned the star, Rob. Might even get another one after everything you've told us over the last two days. Don't think of it as a consolation prize because we don't know whether you'll fly again. If that comes to pass and you decide to get out, wouldn't you rather retire as a General than a Colonel? Your career means everything to you – don't throw it away now out of spite."

A few of the points made by Roberts hit home with Hogan. He should have known his old friend wouldn't let this go unchallenged.

"Colonel," came General Barton's voice. "I once called you a sell out and a disgrace to the uniform before I had any idea of the sacrifices you willingly volunteered for. When I learned the full extent of what you had managed to set up and carry out even two years ago during the darkest point of the war, I would have promoted you on the spot, regardless of anything else you were able to accomplish afterwards or what your record was previous."

Hogan silently weighed the pros and cons and considered the words spoke by both Barton and Roberts. It wasn't the first time he'd wandered down this mental path but with the new knowledge of at what point he'd earned the promotion, he found the terms much more acceptable. Now to make it work to his advantage. Hogan smiled devilishly, glad it couldn't be seen by those in London.

"Gentlemen, there is one aspect of this entire business which has not been brought up as yet. While probably considered quite insignificant to you, it is of massive personal impact to myself," Hogan paused to let what he said sink in. "Against my wishes, my family was informed of my death. The emotional anguish they have suffered has been immense and I demand recompense before I ever accept a star on my shoulder. Tom is fortunate in the fact he has been able to see me in person, to heal from the wounds this mission has inflicted on him, an innocent bystander. My parents and other siblings do not have such a benefit. I want to speak with them in person to break the news as soon as possible."

"Colonel, what you are asking…" began Butler.

"…has been done more or less before, or are you forgetting the relay to contact the pizzeria in Brooklyn not long after we set up shop here? While I realize we didn't speak with Mr. Garlotti directly, we had to relay through the sub to Captain Henderson at HQ and then to New York, surely we can get some direct connection with all the advances we've made. Even we don't relay through the sub anymore," countered Hogan, not letting the Brass rail-road him in this matter a second time.

The radio lapsed into such a long moment of silence, Hogan was beginning to believe the Generals had either all walked out on him over his absurd proposal, or the line had been somehow disconnected. Finally an answer came.

"Agreed, Colonel," said Patton. "The request is understandable and not terribly unreasonable. Group Captain Roberts…"

"Actually, General," interrupted Barton, "if I may, I would like to take care of this matter. I owe the Colonel this at least."

"Agreed then," replied Patton. "General Hogan, General Barton will be making the arrangements. The two of you can stay on the line to finalize details. Congratulations on your promotion. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen…"

Goodbyes were exchanged as General Patton left the conference room. Generals Butler, Walters and Boland, Air Marshal Woodhouse, and Group Captain Roberts quickly followed, assuming they were dismissed after the exit of Patton. General Barton gathered the information he needed to set up the call to Bridgeport, Connecticut and Hogan's parents. Tracking down Scott would take longer as Hogan had no idea where his brother was in the Pacific Theatre of Operations. Barton anticipated it would take him a couple of days to set everything up, especially since today was already mostly over, which gave Hogan another idea Barton was only too happy to help execute. Soon the details were all hashed out and both parties signed off.

Hogan sat back, pleased. The debriefing was finally over, he had managed to persuade the Brass to set up a call with his family, and he had garnered a well-deserved and apparently long overdue promotion on his terms. _General Hogan…I do believe I like the sound of that!_

* * *

"So sir, is the debriefing finally over?" asked Carter when Hogan finally emerged from the tunnels hours after sequestering himself down there for the third day in a row.

"Yep. Got her all wrapped up at last. You want to get all the guys together? There's some news to share," replied Hogan, stretching after climbing over the bunk rails. Hours of sitting at the radio had not done wonders for his back and he thought about Kinch and Baker doing those lengthy shifts without complaint.

"Major Sullivan too?"

"Might as well, although not Captain Nichols. There are some sensitive things to go over."

"You got it, boy! Uh, sir," replied Carter happily before disappearing through the barracks door. Hogan chuckled at the sense of déjà vu from his debriefing; in a lot of ways, Carter hadn't changed a bit.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone requested was gathered around the main table, speculating on what the news would be this time. Hogan came out of his office and stood at the head of the table as he'd often done before and made 'quiet down' gestures.

"What's the news this time, sir?" called Greenburg. "Jerry surrendering again?" Chuckles and guffaws went around the room.

Hogan smiled at the men gathered. He was going to miss meetings like this, where the men felt at ease enough to banter freely.

"Alright, hold it down!" called Hogan even as the laughter died. "As you know, I've spent the last three days on the radio with London rehashing the last six weeks. General Eisenhower was greatly pleased and impressed by the job we did here, and there will be several medals and promotions awarded in the months to come. As I'm sure you can imagine, they are a little overwhelmed at HQ right now in light of the surrender."

Hogan paused for a moment to let the men comment between each other. Praise direct from General Eisenhower was nothing to sneeze at; in fact it was about the highest praise one could get in the US Army, shy of the President himself.

"You all deserve each and every award, citation, medal or promotion the Pentagon deems to give you so be proud of what we've done here. The Brass has made the decision the Operation will be partially disclosed at some point in the near future, due to the pending trials for Hochstetter and Klink. Until that time however, everything is to be kept secret. We will be informed in due course what exactly is being released, but rest assured, you will be able to tell your families about being a part of what we did here."

Cheering broke out and Hogan let it run its course. As he had thought, the men were more than pleased they would be able to speak with their loved ones about the Operation, and be able to explain why they never were able to escape. Hogan could almost feel the weight being lifted. Once things settled down again, he continued.

"The camp is going to remain in tact for a while longer. The Brass doesn't want to risk compromising any evidence against Klink or Hochstetter by destroying any part of the Operation at this point in time. Everything in the tunnels, barracks, offices, wherever is to be left until the conclusion of the war crimes trials.

"There is one more item I have been instructed to tell you. The mission I undertook these last few weeks is going to be buried. Anyone who knows anything about what I did needs to forget it immediately. All records are going to be cleansed and the matter is not to be discussed. Ever. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." "Crystal, sir." "Yes, sir." echoed around the room.

"Does anyone have any questions?" asked Hogan, looking around to see if anyone did. Newkirk raised his hand and Hogan indicated he could speak.

"Iffen I might, sir," he began, "may I ask if there was any word on you getting a promotion?"

Hogan looked down at the table top for a moment, considering what to reply. He looked up again when he spoke. "It is not official as yet, but I have been awarded my first star. Until I am presented with it however, you will still refer to me as 'Colonel'."

More cheering and congratulations were given from around the room. The team was proud. Tom was amazed – his brother had made Brigadier General!

"If there are no further questions…" Hogan looked around the room and saw no indication anyone had anything more to add. "Remember, if you are not sure if you can speak about a something, don't say anything and check with me. Dismissed."

* * *

Hogan strolled across the compound towards the cooler, his gait easy. He looked up and took a deep, settling breath of fresh air, releasing the last of his tensions. The sky was awash with a myriad of colour as the sun set and glinted off the barbed wire.

Hogan was much more relaxed now the report to the Brass had been filed and accepted. He had been unsure what reaction to expect when he had failed the main portion of his mission – to bring Hitler in for trial – but it appeared the High Command was happier having Hitler dead and not having to prosecute him at the war crimes trials. Hogan suspected Hitler's trial alone could have gone on for a year or more, and certainly the trials for Göring and the other high-ranking Nazis would take months, if not a year, to complete. Hogan wondered how much he would be called on to testify for, if at all, given the fact his mission was to be wiped. Maybe it was a good thing Hitler was dead; Hogan would have not wanted to testify at his trial. It was going to be bad enough for Klink's and Hochstetter's. He had never liked lawyers with their crafty ways of turning your words back on you to paint things in a totally different light then the way they had been intended. _Here's hoping the trials are straightforward and quick_, he thought.

Arriving at the cooler, Hogan indicated for one of the guards to accompany him inside. Private Perkins seemed overly eager to please, and he couldn't help but liken him to Carter just after he was let into the Organization.

"Good evening, Colonel," greeted Hogan as he arrived outside of Klink's cell.

"Hogan," acknowledged Klink. "What's going on here?" he asked, indicating the guard.

"Feel up to a little walk?" asked Hogan. Klink could tell he was up to something by the way he rocked and bounced on the balls of his feet. Klink was happy to see it; Hogan's stillness was the one thing which had bothered Klink the most when he had paid his respects to his fallen Senior POW Officer. The man was always in motion.

"Where to?" asked Klink suspiciously, wondering what Hogan had up his sleeve this time.

"My barracks. I have something to show you," replied Hogan, not giving anything away.

"Let me check my schedule," said Klink, pretending to read his desk calendar. "You're in luck. Looks like I'm available."

"Figured you'd be chomping at the bit to get out of this place for a while," commented Hogan as Perkins used the key to unlock the cell door.

"Let's just say I'm more sympathetic to why you were always trying to get your men out of their 30 days in the cooler," replied Klink, walking out of his cell for the first time in over a month.

"Too bad you didn't learn that sooner!"

Klink snorted and fell in behind Hogan, with Private Perkins in the rear. Together, the trio crossed the compound to Barracks 2.

"Wait out here, Perkins," ordered Hogan. The Private acknowledged and took up a guard position outside the barrack door.

Stepping inside the hut, Klink noticed not much had been altered since his impromptu visit to Hogan's quarters those many weeks ago. He remembered at the time thinking how dismal the place was. It was funny how one's perspective changed depending on the circumstance; Klink had always believed the barracks were adequate while he was Kommandant, but after opening his eyes to Hogan's life here and now knowing Schultz and Langenscheidt were imprisoned in them, Klink realized how laughable the huts truly were and felt a pang of regret. A multitude of excuses instantly flooded his brain: his hands were tied by budget restraints, they were the same as other Stalags, Burkhalter would have arrested him for giving comfort to the enemy… Klink mentally swiped them all away.

"So where is everybody?" asked Klink, noticing they were alone.

"Over at the Rec Hall listening to Tommy Dorsey records," replied Hogan.

"I see. So what did you want to show me, Hogan?" asked Klink, focussing on the matter at hand.

"Just this," said Hogan, walking over to one of the double bunks. Klink watched as Hogan hit the side of the rail twice, then his jaw hit the floor as the bed of the lower bunk rose and a ladder descended into the earth below.

Hogan stood beside the bunk taking in Klink's reaction with a smug grin plastered across his face. Klink slowly approached the bunk as if afraid he was going to fall in if he got too close. He peered over the rail and was surprised to see light glowing from somewhere below. He straightened up and looked at Hogan.

"Your tunnel?" Klink asked.

"The Escape Committee's been exceptionally active while I've been away," replied Hogan cheekily. When Klink rolled his eyes, Hogan added, "Yes, that's our tunnel. It's been here since a few weeks after I arrived. Care to take a look around?"

"Seriously?" asked Klink, touched Hogan would show him his big secret.

"Why not? It's going to be made public at your trial as well as Hochstetter's. You might as well know what it was we kept from you."

"And how badly I was hoodwinked," muttered Klink, not quite believing he could have been so oblivious.

"Well we did keep you distracted with theatrical productions, snowman making and basket weaving contests, volleyball and football games, violin recitals, art shows, and the like."

"Hogan, will I ever know everything that went on right under my nose?" asked Klink suddenly.

"For your sake, Colonel, I hope not," replied Hogan. "Now down you go…"

Klink climbed over the rail and onto the ladder, carefully climbing down. Hogan followed him most of the way down before jumping off a few steps from the bottom to land gracefully beside Klink.

"Do this often then?" said Klink, noting the ease and familiarity Hogan demonstrated dismounting from the ladder.

"Sometimes five or six times a day," replied Hogan as he led Klink to the radio room. "This is the hub of the Operation," he began. "The radio and planning room. Sergeants Kinchloe and Baker were my chief radio operators. From here we could communicate with the local Underground to set up meetings and supply drops, and with London directly to receive orders and pass on Intelligence gathered. We often requisitioned submarine pick ups for down fliers or arranged planes for the pick up of important visitors."

"London direct? That would have taken quite a large antenna. Where did you hide it?" asked Klink, actually impressing Hogan by showing some knowledge of how a radio works.

"This lever raised the antenna located in the flag pole on top of the Kommandantur building. If you ever noticed the swastika flying at half-mast, it was because we were on the line to London."

"I thought someone had lowered it out of respect for some higher up dying!" exclaimed Klink. "I never could track down the man responsible. Didn't think Schultz would have done it without orders."

Hogan wove his way through several tunnels, coming out into a larger area again. "This is our wardrobe department, headed up by Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau. Uniforms, all ranks and services, civilian attire, black clothing for sabotage raids, you name it, we've likely got it."

Klink flipped through some of the clothing hung on racks. "Hogan, there are Generals uniforms in here!" he said, floored at what he was finding. "Gestapo too! And…Hitler's uniform? Do I want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know, I thought Carter was pretty impressive. Even had Burkhalter backtracking when he showed up out of the blue."

Klink gasped. "That was Sergeant Carter? But he's always so mild mannered and polite!"

"He was channelling his inner tyrant," replied Hogan sagely. "And yes, we had to play General a lot. Seems most of the German military was deathly afraid of higher-ups. It was amazing what people would do when they heard the rank 'General' to prevent going to the Russian Front. General Kinchmeyer, General Hoganmuller, General Carterheim – name didn't matter much, just the rank."

Klink fell silent, recognizing some of the names Hogan had thrown out off the cuff. He realized now how poorly Kinchloe, Hogan, and Carter had Germanized their names and yet he had fallen into the trap as easily as some others it appeared. At least that gave him some comfort, knowing he wasn't the only one to fall prey to Hogan's shenanigans.

Hogan was moving on now, showing Klink various tunnels which led to most of the buildings in camp, including his old quarters. He stopped at the photo dark room and Carter's lab. Klink had no idea the Sergeant was an explosives expert. Seemed there was more than meets the eye when it came to Carter's talents.

Klink tried the periscope beside the emergency exit and popped his head out of the tree stump to see where Hogan and company went in and out of camp. Klink was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all.

It was after 2200 when Hogan ended the tour by opening the cinder block into Klink's cell.

"So let me guess," said Klink, "you never really spent a week in the cooler ever, did you?"

"Oh I was here," said Hogan, "I just popped in and out a lot based on the guard rotation. And LeBeau used to bring in gourmet dinners, not the slop served in the Mess hall. I also had extra blankets to stay warm."

"Well, I must say Hogan, the tour has been enlightening. I never had a chance, did I? Truly remarkable."

"It was a group effort. Well, it's getting late…" Hogan drifted off and made moves to head into the tunnel. The sight of the bars surrounding him, even with the door open, was bringing back unwanted memories.

"Hogan, wait." At Klink's words, Hogan stopped and faced the other Colonel. "There's one thing I don't understand. You obviously had the means available to you, why did you not escape from Hochstetter? You said you didn't know it was all a setup."

A flippant answer came quickly to Hogan's tongue, but instead he paused, feeling the need to say more to Klink then he normally would have for some reason. "You're right – I didn't know it was a setup," said Hogan, pacing a little in the small space as he gathered his thoughts. "First of all, Hochstetter didn't have me in this cell. He chose one of the solitary cells where we didn't have access."

"But surely your men could have come in through this entrance and freed you?" asked Klink.

Hogan laughed bitterly. "They actually knew! They had radio contact after I left to meet Hochstetter, but couldn't contact me to let me in on the whole thing. Which brings me to the second reason; Hochstetter had several guards throughout the building. If my men had come up through the tunnels, the Gestapo would have picked them off one by one as they climbed out." Hogan sighed and sat heavily on the cell bunk.

"There's a third reason, isn't there?" said Klink, showing a rare bit of intuition.

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose with his good hand, wondering what had possessed him to open up this honestly to Klink of all people. "Yeah," he confirmed quietly, dropping his hand back to his lap and looking up at his former captor. "_Ehrenwort_."

"Word of Honour?" translated Klink automatically. _Ehrenwort_ was something the Germans took extremely seriously. Beyond being just a promise, it tied one's actions to their personal integrity. Such pledges were not given lightly. "To Hochstetter?" asked Klink incredulously.

Hogan nodded. "He made me a deal; I went through with execution willingly and he would leave my core team alone and not slaughter half the camp under the guise of a riot."

Klink was speechless after that revelation. He had often wondered what hold Hochstetter had over Hogan that would make the man capitulate without hesitation. Now he knew and the answer didn't surprise him; the safety and lives of his men.

Klink sat in the chair by the little table they used to play chess on, and turned it to face the man on his bunk. Hogan and he were certainly cut from different cloths. Klink tried to imagine a little role-reversal, and could not picture himself giving up his life for his guards, half of whom he couldn't recall their names. Klink bet Hogan could name every man under his command and he had three hundred more than Klink did. He'd like to think he'd at least consider making the sacrifice for Schultz but wondered if he would chicken out in the end and feel guilty for the rest of his life. _Here's hoping I never have to find out_, thought Klink.

"After he caught me, we went to Hammelburg Gestapo Headquarters, where I had to sign a statement declaring I was the spy Papa Bear," continued Hogan softly. "He was right, but it hurt to have to admit it after hiding it successfully for so many years. Felt like I was betraying everything we'd worked for…"

Klink continued to listen, not knowing what to say and afraid Hogan would close up again if he interrupted. He could hear the bitterness in Hogan's voice; a little strange considering how overly cheerful the man always seemed to be whenever he barged into Klink's office to barter for something. Klink was certain Hogan was one of the best actors he had ever met; no one could be so exuberantly happy all the time.

"Then Hochstetter returned me to camp and you met us in the compound. It was crazy but the overwhelming disappointment I felt knowing you knew I'd been outside the wire…it was like I'd been disowned by my father or something."

_His father! Did Hogan really see me as a father-figure?_ Klink felt his face flush a little with embarrassment. "I couldn't believe you had confessed," he said just as quietly, fingers absently twiddling a chess piece. "Hochstetter was more than happy to present me with a copy of the documents. I recognized your signature from the reprimand reports we have to co-sign whenever anyone is disciplined. I knew it wasn't forged by the way you weren't protesting or demanding I call General Burkhalter. I couldn't understand what happened, how it happened…I didn't get back to sleep for the rest of the night. Hochstetter had assured me he had immediately sent copies of the documents to Berlin, both Gestapo Headquarters and Burkhalter's office. I talked to General Burkhalter as early as I dared call to try and put a stop to things, but there was nothing to be done; Hochstetter had everything sewn up perfectly and it was out of Luftwaffe control. I never thought I'd be able to tell you I was sorry I couldn't do more."

"Hey, at least you tried, which is more than I thought you might have done, given it meant confronting the Gestapo," replied Hogan. "I knew going into the deal there was only one way out."

"Hochstetter wouldn't let me visit you either, to let you know my hands were tied or to say good bye," said Klink regretfully.

"I know. He made sure to brag about his 'ring of steel' around the cooler." The conversation lulled for a bit, each man lost in his own thoughts about that night.

"I didn't sleep that night either," said Hogan out of the blue. "What was the point? Might as well make the most of my last hours on Earth."

"Seriously?" asked Klink doubtfully.

"No," replied Hogan, who grinned sheepishly. "I was exhausted and fell asleep for a few hours. I was automatically up in time for roll call; recharged my batteries enough for my mind to start running over things. Thought about my family, some good times from my past, regrets, prayed a little…just tried to come to terms with dying I guess. I know I was in the middle of a war, and I know running the Operation was dangerous and could have ended in disaster at any given moment, but dying was only a possible outcome in those situations. This time it was different. It was a certainty; at least I thought so at the time. It makes a man think, being faced with your own mortality. I couldn't deny it was going to happen. I was angry for a while; not sure if I was madder at Hochstetter for catching me or myself for being caught. But eventually I came to see it was going to happen and there was nothing I could do to stop it. After that, it wasn't hard to accept since it was for the greater good. I think it ticked Hochstetter off I was so compliant."

"I think I've said this before, but I'll say it again. You're a brave man, Hogan. It took all I had just to stand on the porch to watch and I threw up once it was over. But you, you were the picture of calm, trading barbs with Hochstetter, marching to the front of the firing squad like it was something you did every day. In that instant, I was proud to have known you."

"Thank you," said Hogan humbly, amazed at the depth of feelings the two men had exchanged this evening without being awkward. Silence fell for a few moments before Hogan rose from the bunk. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've had a long, gruelling day. I'll send Private Perkins back to lock up so don't go anywhere. I'm also locking the cinder block entrance behind me, so don't even think about trying to escape. Good night, Wilhelm, and thanks for the chat."

"Good night, Robert. And thank you for showing everything to me."

"You're welcome. You deserved to know."

Hogan pulled the block shut behind him, a little awkwardly with only one arm, but Klink helped to push it back in place from the other side. Hogan then worked his way back through the tunnels to the main exit. Climbing up to Barracks 2, he triggered shut the tunnel entrance and opened the barracks door.

"Perkins? What are you still doing here? Colonel Klink's already back in the cooler. Better go make sure his cell's locked!" Hogan called to the hapless Private still guarding the door.

Perkins didn't know whether to believe the Colonel or not. He was positive Klink had not come out passed him, but he also didn't want to disobey a superior either. Seeing as Hogan was a Colonel, Perkins decided he'd better do as he was told and scampered across the compound to the cooler. Dashing inside, he was stunned to find his prisoner asleep on his bunk, the cell door still wide open.

_Now how the heck had that happened?_

* * *

A/N: Hogan Go Home – Season 3, episode 19. I realize Crittendon's rank was always specified as Colonel, however as an RAF officer, it should properly be Group Captain. Authors Patti and Marg on this site did a similar connection with the episode and Hogan's promotion in their story End Game. I liked it so much, I borrowed it. Hopefully they won't mind.

The Pizza Parlour – Season 1, episode 22

The Pentagon was built during WWII and was dedicated on Jan 15, 1943. It is the world's largest office building with 17.5 miles (28 km) of corridors over 7 floors (5 above ground, 2 below). It is approximately the same distance wide as the Empire State building is tall. It houses 25,000 military and civilian staff as the headquarters for the US Department of Defence. It is so large, the US Postal Service has assigned it 6 zip codes.


	46. Chapter 46: May 13

May 13, 1945

"Tom, I think you'd better talk to Mom first," said Rob, running his good hand through his thick black hair as he paced behind the stool where Tom sat in the tunnel's radio room. "It'll be a surprise to speak with you, but it will be a down-right shock to talk to me."

"Yeah, you're right as usual, bro'," replied Tom with a smirk. He paused for a moment. "I just…I don't even know what to say. To my own mother no less!" Tom shook his head. "I haven't spoken to her or Dad for so long, you know? And so much has happened over here, I don't even feel like I'm the same person any more."

"In a lot of ways, you aren't," said Rob seriously as he stopped pacing to stress his point. "I know it's sort of cliché, but 'war changes a person'. We've both changed. We've seen and done things no one ever should have, been forced to the limits of our endurance, looked death in the face and survived. But in spite of all that we've been through, Mom and Dad still love us unconditionally. Heck, Dad was in World War I. I think he of all people will understand what's happened to us over here, if we need a little time when something catches us off-guard and reminds us of some unpleasantness we've encountered along the way."

"How did you get to be so smart Rob?" asked Tom with a sigh.

"There's a reason I'm wearing eagles and you've still got those railroad tracks, little brother," replied Rob with a twinkle in his eye. "Now get on that radio and call our mother!"

"Yes sir!" cried Tom, snapping off a text-book salute with a laugh.

* * *

Mary Hogan had gone to morning Mass with her husband Stephen. There had been much to be thankful for this Sunday, now that peace had been declared in Europe. Prayers had been offered for the continued safety of Tom and the quick conclusion to the fighting in the Pacific. She would be so happy to see it finished now Scott had shipped overseas.

Currently back at home, Mary began preparations for their regular Sunday night dinner. Maggie and Susan would be bringing their families over later in the afternoon. She had just finished seasoning the roast and placing it in the oven when the doorbell rang. Drying her hands on her apron as she hurried to the front door, Mary wondered who could be calling this soon after lunch. Maggie and Susan weren't scheduled to arrive until later, and they usually didn't bother to ring the bell. Swinging wide the door, Mary found a middle-aged balding man standing on the porch holding the biggest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen.

"Mr. Beasley!" exclaimed Mary. "Whatever are you doing here on a Sunday?"

Mr. Beasley offered the bouquet to her. "Delivering these. And yes, on a Sunday too! But when a General telephones and wakes you up at 0800 on your day off to demand you deliver the largest bouquet of flowers I can put together, you do what you're ordered. Said I had to get them here by 1400 too. Uh, that's two o'clock to you."

"A General?" questioned Mary, a puzzled look furrowing her brow. "How did you know…?"

"That he was a real General?" The owner of the local floral shop gave a snort. "Quoted me my entire WWI service record with dates and everything. Oh he was a General, no doubt about it. Sent along these messages as well," he said, handing over a couple of slips of paper. "Now you just go and enjoy those, and I'll go back to my day off like I should be. Take care, Mrs. Hogan. And Happy Mother's Day!"

Mary stood in a daze in the open doorway and watched as Mr. Beasley returned to his car and drove off. Stephen came up behind her and startled her out of her trance.

"Who was it dear?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Jumping a little, she replied, "Mr. Beasley just delivered this bouquet of flowers. He claims a General woke him early this morning and told him to bring them over with a couple of notes."

"Well, what do they say?"

"I haven't read them yet. Let's go see what this is about." Mary led the way from the door to the kitchen, where she placed the bouquet on the counter. Stephen closed the door and followed her, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table while he waited for his wife to read the messages.

Mary sat down across from her husband and unfolded the first sheet of paper. She read out loud:

_Dear Dr. Stephen and Mrs. Mary Hogan,_

_It is with sincerest regret and deepest sympathy I wish to offer my most heart-felt apologies in the matter of the reported death of your son Robert._

_I do not ask forgiveness for the role I played. Suffice it to say even Generals get out-voted. I only ask that you move forward from your anger and accept the necessity of the events put in place to protect your son._

_Robert is a dedicated and courageous officer who was willing to sacrifice his entire self for the cause we all fought for. He is one of the bravest, most selfless heroes of this war. I am proud to have known and served with him._

_He informed me of his traditional gift to you of a bouquet of flowers on this special day so please accept these as a small token of what this country owes you. As Rob said, "It's the least you could do!"_

_Happy Mother's Day._

_Sincerely,_

_Brigadier General Aloysius Barton_

_United States Army Air Corps_

Mary looked up from the sheet of paper and met a pair of eyes mirroring the same confusion she felt.

"I don't understand," she said helplessly. "This General Barton speaks as though Rob was alive, and yet he mentions his death. Stephen, I don't understand..."

"Neither do I, love. Why don't you read the other note? Maybe we read them out of order. Perhaps it helps explain?" suggested Stephen.

Setting down the General's letter, Mary picked up and unfolded the other sheet. Once again she read out loud:

_Dear Mom,_

_You are about to be the happiest mother on the face of this earth._

_Happy Mother's Day!_

_With more love than you could ever imagine,_

_Mutt__ and Jeff_

_P.S. Dad, does this cover us for Father's Day too?_

"Now I'm more confused than ever!" exclaimed Stephen, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. He got up to pace, one arm hugging himself, the other propped on it while he stroked his chin with his thumb. "It's quite the mystery. Not a lot of people know your special nicknames for Rob and Tom, and I can't see anyone sending this as a kind of cruel joke, especially today of all days. Did Mr. Beasley say anything else?"

"No, not really. He said he had to deliver the flowers by two though he didn't say why," said Mary as she watched her husband pace back and forth. The messages had left her a little shaken.

"Well, it's almost two now. Maybe something will happen at two o'clock?" said Stephen, looking at the clock on the wall over the stove.

"I don't know. Why don't you…" Mary's request was cut off by the ringing of the telephone on the kitchen wall. They both looked at each other before Stephen picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" he said.

"Yes it is," he continued after listening for a moment.

"One minute," Stephen covered the receiver with his palm and turned to Mary. "It's the operator. We've both been instructed to come on the line, so you need to go pick up the set in the living room." Stephen turned back to the phone as Mary rose and went into the living room. _What was going on?_ she wondered. Sitting on the sofa, she cautiously picked up the receiver as if she was afraid it would bite her. Placing it to her ear, she was able to hear both Stephen and the operator speaking.

"This is Mary Hogan," she said with hardly a waiver in her voice.

"One moment while I connect you," came the woman's voice followed by a series of clicks and then background hissing.

"Hello?" said Stephen, assuming the connections had been made as required.

"Dad? Is that you? It's Tom! Is Mom there?" came the male voice from across the ocean.

"Tom! Oh my God! Tom! Is it really you?" Mary couldn't hold back her exclamation of surprise. The hand holding the receiver started to shake.

"Yes, yes! It's me! I'm alive and well. Still in Germany but safe," said Tom, his relief evident despite the static.

"Son, it is darn good to hear your voice again," said Stephen, voice cracking with emotion.

"I can't talk long. I just wanted to wish Mom a Happy Mother's Day!" said Tom.

"Oh Tom, this is the best present you could have given me," said Mary. "I didn't think I would ever hear your voice again. Thank God you're safe. When will you be coming home?"

"I don't know, Mom. I just wanted to let you and Dad know that I'm fine and that I love you both very much," said Tom, his voice cracking now too.

"We love you too, son. Stay safe and hurry home," said Stephen.

"I love you too, Tom. Please stay safe. I worry about you so much," added Mary.

"Try not to worry too much, Mom. As much as I'd like to keep talking to you, the number of favours cashed in to place this call is astronomical. We only have ten minutes so I have to go. There's someone else here who wants to have a word. Hold on…"

There was a long moment of silence broken by the sounds of shuffling going on. Then another voice came on the line.

"Mom? Dad?" spoke the new voice tentatively from the heart of Germany. "I…It's Rob…"

Through the doorway of the kitchen, Mary and Stephen locked gazes, almost dropping the phones in their astonishment and disbelief.

"R-R-R-Rob?" Stephen managed to get out, barely loud enough to be heard over the wire.

"Yes, Dad. It's me. I'm alive. Oh God… yes, I'm alive… I'm alive!" Rob choked over the words as he realized it was true: he was alive after everything he'd been through in the last six weeks. The dam of emotions broke with a fury, unleashing a maelstrom of pent up anguish he didn't even know existed. He thought he had been coping fine and putting things behind him. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm so very sorry you had to go through this. Sorry for the grief, for the lies. They insisted; I had to follow orders. They were trying to protect me. I'm so sorry they hurt you." Another half-stifled sob. "Mom! Is she there? Is she alright? I can't imagine what she's been going through. What the whole family has been put through…"

"I'm here, Rob," said Mary quietly, tears streaming down her face while she sat on the sofa. "Please tell me this isn't a dream. Please tell me this is real."

"It's only a dream come true. It's real, Mom, it's real. I'm real. I'll be coming home, not sure when right now, but I am coming home. Tom and I together, we'll be home again, just like we promised we would."

"Son, I can't believe my ears. Thank God you're alive, you're alright. I never want to have to experience anything like that again in my life. It's been so hard, thinking you were gone. Mary's been strong but it…it nearly broke us, son." Stephen had to stop speaking as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. A single tear managed to break free and track a slow course down Stephen's cheek.

"I know and I am forever sorry. There is no way to ever make this up to you and I don't have enough time to explain why it all happened but it's over now. Just know I love you both so much." There was a brief pause. "Can I wish you a Happy Mother's Day now Mom?"

"Oh Rob! Certainly you can! I never expected to hear you say it ever again," exclaimed Mary.

"You didn't by chance get a bouquet of flowers sent to you this morning, did you?" asked Rob.

"Yes, they are the biggest bunch I think I've ever seen in my entire life! Thank you. You always did bring me flowers on Mother's Day."

"Well, I had a General who owed me one – well actually, he now owes me one _less_," laughed Rob. "I want to talk with you forever but I'm getting the cut off sign. I have to go now, time's up. Tell the girls I'm sorry and I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to them and I love them and we'll be together again soon when I can hopefully explain a bit more on why all this happened."

"Take care, Rob. We love you too. I am most definitely the happiest mother in the world right now. Nothing could top this miracle."

"Take care, son, and look after your brother. We all love both of you very much."

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad," and with a click, Rob was gone.

Mary and Stephen put down their receivers. Stephen rushed into the living room and enveloped Mary in a bone-crushing hug which was returned just as fiercely. Tears of joy spilt down their faces as they revelled in the news that their oldest had indeed survived the horrors of war.

The gold star on the window banner was gone long before the girls arrived for dinner. Their family was whole again.

* * *

In the tunnels underneath the former POW Camp, Colonel Robert Hogan put down the microphone and slumped in his seat, totally spent. He worked up enough energy to wipe his eyes from where tears had left salty tracks down his weathered face. That had been the easiest, hardest, longest, shortest, most heart breaking, and most euphoric five minutes of his entire life.

Tom let him gather himself together for a minute before placing a hand on his shoulder. Rob looked up at his brother. Quickly he rose and engulfed the younger man before the moment passed; crushing him in a one-armed bear hug despite the sling he still wore. Thank God their family was whole again. Now to regroup for the next call.

* * *

"Lieutenant Hogan, report to Signals at once!" The page echoed through the tinny sounding loud speakers of the compound and was repeated for clarity. Jumping up from his bunk, Scott hurriedly threw on his uniform and boots, double-timing it across the complex to the communications center. It was late and dark; Scott had more or less just settled into his bunk for the night when the summons had broadcasted across the base.

Scott had been deployed to Iwo Jima. The battle to take the tiny island off the coast of Japan had been finally decided in late March after almost two months worth of fighting. Now he was stationed at the main citadel on the island, a stronghold which had rebuked the attempts by the American Marines to take it time after time. Under the fortress was a warren of tunnels where many of the Japanese fled once it was determined the Americans were going to take the fortification. There were still enemy soldiers hiding there even three months later, although patrols frequently picked up stragglers at night when they came out to scavenge for food. Scott was there as part of the squadron assigned to the air field.

Arriving at the radio office, Scott was informed he had a personal transmission. A highly irregular occurrence, Scott was stunned and hoped it wasn't the harbinger of bad news. He sort of zoned out as the wireless operator decked him out with a headset and attempted to instruct him on how to use the microphone, being slightly different from the one in his plane. Most of it sank in, in a detached sort of way, while his other thoughts ran away a mile a minute. The majority of them centered on something terrible happening to Tom, and Scott couldn't bear the thought of losing a second brother to the war. He was still emotionally raw from losing Rob, although he never let it show when he was on duty.

The signalman finished establishing the connections and indicated Scott should speak.

"This is Lieutenant Hogan, over," said Scott, his voice a little shaky to begin but getting firmer.

"Sc--tt? --t's --om, --ver," came the garbled voice.

"Message scrambled. Say again. Over," said Scott as the radio operator adjusted a few knobs and boosted the gain.

"Scott? It's Tom. Can you hear me now? Over." A huge weight lifted from Scott's shoulders as he recognized his brother's voice.

"Roger that, five by five," acknowledged Scott. "Tom! It's so good to hear your voice. What's wrong?" asked Scott, dropping standard radio protocol now he knew who was on the other end of the line.

"Nothing! Everything is terrific. What makes you think something is wrong?" asked Tom.

"Because you don't call up your brother from half way around the world on a priority military channel just to say 'hi'. Even _I_ know that. Now what's up? The fighting should be well over and done with where you are. Are you hurt?" replied Scott, concern lacing its tone despite the no-nonsense demeanour Scott was taking with his brother. Sometimes his brothers sheltered him too much, and Scott often found himself reminding them he wasn't a baby any more.

"A couple of cracked ribs a week or so back but I'm fine," replied Tom casually, downplaying his injuries so as not to worry his brother. "I have some terrific news," he continued, excitedly. "Rob's alive!"

"What? I must have heard you wrong. What do you mean Rob's alive?" demanded Scott, his heart thumping wildly at the possibility his oldest brother had somehow survived. It was too good to be true.

There were a few moments of silence and just as Scott was beginning to panic they had lost the connection and he would never find out about his brother, the wire came alive again.

"Hey Scooter, it's Rob," came the voice of his lost brother fondly using his nickname.

"Rob!" gasped Scott. "How is this possible? And you're with Tom?"

"Yeah, I ran into Tom quite by accident and he's been tagging along ever since." Scott could hear the smile in his brother's voice before he turned serious. "I can't really go into the 'how's right now. It's classified. Short version is, I was assigned a critical secret mission and the Powers-that-Be decided it was for the best if everyone thought I was dead." Rob's voice carried an undercurrent of anger; remorse tinged his next words. "I'm sorry; I tried to fight it but I was overruled by several Generals, which is why they're paying me back by allowing these calls. I couldn't let you go on thinking I was gone and a letter would have taken too long. You probably wouldn't have believed it anyway. I hope you understand and can forgive me."

Scott spoke hesitantly as he began to absorb what Rob was telling him. "I understand a little and from the sounds of it, I don't have to forgive you – it's the Brass who should be held responsible for our grief." Scott's anger at what had been done came through loud and clear. "Mom and Dad were devastated." Scott's voice cracked as he was drawn back into the memories of those horrible few days in April. "They let me go home for a bit before I shipped out; Mom was a wreck and Dad wandered around stunned, not speaking to anyone. Susan and Maggie tried to help them through it, which meant they weren't grieving themselves and I was just sort of stuck in the middle of it all." Scott paused to clear his throat, trying to return himself to the present. "Do they know yet?"

"Yes; I got off the phone with them a few minutes before we contacted you. Unfortunately I wasn't able to talk to the girls, only Mom and Dad."

"Bet they were surprised." Scott chuckled, trying to imagine their faces on hearing Rob's voice on the other end of the line. They were probably very similar to his own.

"Stunned was more like it. You okay with all this?" asked Rob hesitantly.

"Yeah, starting to be. I think it will be a while before it truly sinks in. I can't believe you're alive! We had a memorial service back home and everything…"

"Oh God, you didn't!" exclaimed Rob, and Scott could picture him cringing in embarrassment.

"Well, the Army guy from the Pentagon had said they couldn't bring your body back, so Susan and Maggie figured the only way Mom and Dad would have closure would be to have a memorial service. We managed to pull one together the day before I had to return to base."

"Scott, I'm sorry you had to go through all that," said Rob regretfully. "Thank you for being there for everyone. I'm sure you were a great source of comfort and strength for Mom and Dad and your sisters. And thank you for not being angry at me." Rob paused. "I'm getting the cut off sign – time's up. Be careful over there and come back safe – just because Mom and Dad got one son back, doesn't mean they can lose another. Is that clear, Lieutenant?" ordered Rob playfully.

"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir!" responded Scott with a laugh.

"Not for much longer; I've accepted a promotion to Brigadier General."

"General! Congrats, big brother!" exclaimed Scott.

"Thanks and congratulations to you too for graduating officer's school. Okay, they're about to disconnect us. Stay safe and watch your tail feathers. Love you, Scooter. Over and out."

"Love you too, Rob. Out," and then Scott heard the disconnect tone as the line dropped.

Scott slowly took off the headphones, trying to digest the entire conversation as the radio operator performed the regular disconnect routine on the radio. Scott thanked him for his help, still somewhat in a daze over the miracle he'd been granted tonight. He left the communication room and entered the hallway, mind still in a fog, and literally ran into the base's Commanding Officer. Scrambling back, Scott saluted and offered apologies.

"Hogan, what are you doing here? You aren't assigned to Signals Corps. I thought you had day shift on the air field?" asked his Colonel brusquely.

"Uh, yes, sir I do, but I had a personal transmission…" replied Scott, still standing at attention.

"Personal? From whom?" demanded the Colonel, knowing how rare such a thing was.

"My brother Rob. He had been reported as KIA in mid-April just before I was deployed but he's been found alive!" exclaimed Scott excitedly.

Hogan's enthusiasm brought a slight smile to the Colonel's face. "Extraordinary. I'm happy for you, son. Far too few reasons for joy in this war. He must have some clout if he managed to arrange a personal transmission."

"He's just made Brigadier, sir," said Scott with pride.

"General, huh? Better pass on my congratulations then. Best get back to your barrack now. It's well after lights-out."

"Yes sir," replied Scott, saluting and hurrying off.

Scott returned to his bunk, stripped down to his skivvies once more and climbed into bed. His brain was running a hundred miles an hour, the elation from speaking with both Tom and Rob flooding his system with adrenalin. As he lay there staring at the darkened ceiling, he remembered with fondness all the adventures he got into with Rob when he was growing up, the thoughts of his brother no longer causing his heart to ache or his eyes to mist in sorrow. Finally he shut his weary eyes and slipped into dreams which were peaceful at last.

* * *

A/N: "Mutt and Jeff" is credited as the first daily comic strip. Created by Bud Fisher for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1907, it was syndicated across the US by 1908. By 1916, it was turned into a series of animated shorts shown at movie houses, running 300 'episodes' over 11 years. "Mutt and Jeff" ran until 1982.

The strip revolved around Augustus Mutt; a tall, dimwitted fanatic horse-race gambler. Mutt met the half-pint Jeff, who shared the passion for horse-racing. The strip later abandoned the horse-race theme and concentrated on Mutt's get-rich-quick schemes, with Jeff as a sometimes unwilling partner. It was very popular, especially around WWII, and would seem to be the type of nickname Mary would give Rob and Tom, with young Rob being much taller than baby Tom (there's 9 years between them), and the two getting into constant trouble together.

Mutt and Jeff were so popular during the war that British double agents used them as code names. See www . guardian . co . uk/uk/2002/nov/28/artsandhumanities . military1

Some military clarifications:

Over is used at the end of a transmission to indicate 'Over to you'.

Out is used to indicate you don't expect a reply.

Say Again is used rather than Repeat, as Repeat is used after calling for artillery fire to be fired again.

Roger is used to acknowledge the Receipt of information. In the military alphabet from 1927-1957, R was Roger. It is now changed to Romeo although Roger is still used as the acknowledgement.

Five By Five acknowledges the signal strength and clarity of a radio transmission. Five by Five is the strongest, clearest signal. After WWII, 'Loud and Clear' came into common usage.

KIA is Killed in Action.


	47. Chapter 47: May 28

May 28, 1945

A couple of weeks had passed since the Hogan brothers had talked with their family members. Nothing terribly exciting had happened in the meantime, and generally the team was getting bored. Hogan had made a few trips into Hammelburg to speak with former members of the Underground. They were now able to meet in the open during the day, and Hogan drove himself in Klink's staff car, having no problems passing through the camp gates as himself. It felt weird and wonderful even after several trips.

Major Sullivan remained in charge of the camp; Hogan didn't want to burden himself with mundane things like guard rotations and requisitioning supplies. It was going to be bad enough flying a desk as a General, assuming he was allowed to remain in the Air Corps, and he didn't know how much longer he would be stationed at Stalag 13.

Hogan's hand was healing well; he no longer wore the sling and only a couple of his fingers remained braced. It looked like he was going to retain some use of it, although likely not a hundred percent, which made Hogan much happier than the initial speculation he would lose all mobility of it.

Tom's ribs were almost completely healed as well. He didn't need to keep them wrapped anymore. They were still tender, which caught him unawares if he shifted the wrong way; however they were getting better every day.

Hochstetter had his cast removed. His arm had fully healed and was expected not to give him any trouble. Hogan had watched the former Gestapo man as he was led under guard across the compound to the medical hut, not coming anywhere near to his nemesis. They traded glares; Hochstetter showed a slight snarl but Hogan remained aloof and nothing was said between the two men. Hochstetter was returned to the cooler and Hogan had continued to refuse to visit him.

* * *

Hogan was in Major Sullivan's office when the call came from the front gates: a large contingent of US Army vehicles were waiting to be granted entrance. Hurrying out to the porch, Sullivan and Hogan arrived in time to watch General Patton jump down from his peep which had halted in front of the Commandant's Office. Behind him was a half dozen troop transports, empty but for their drivers.

Hogan and Sullivan immediately snapped to attention, saluting the well-decorated war hero.

"General Patton, sir, welcome to Camp 13. I'm Major Sullivan, Commandant. To what do we owe the honour of your visit?" asked Sullivan, stepping forward slightly.

"Several things, but primarily I've come to see Colonel Hogan," replied Patton.

"I'm Hogan," replied the Colonel, coming down the porch steps to meet the General. "A pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face."

"The pleasure's all mine," said Patton, offering a hand which Hogan grasped firmly. "That was quite the debriefing."

"Glad you found it entertaining," replied Hogan with a smile.

"Unbelievable is more to the truth," said Patton. "I believe you know why I am here?"

"Fairly certain, sir," replied Hogan, realizing he was now in his final hours of being a Colonel.

"Good. Sullivan, work with my aides here," ordered Patton, indicating a couple of men waiting in the vehicle behind him. "We'll be having a formal presentation at 1100; everyone in camp is to attend, including the Germans."

"Yes, sir," replied Sullivan, saluting. "Gentlemen, if you'll come into my office…" said Sullivan leading the way back inside. The aides quickly followed.

"Now, Hogan, since we've got a couple of hours before the ceremony, would you mind giving me the grand tour?" Patton phrased it as a question, but Hogan knew it was more of an order, not that he minded showing off the Operation to the four-star General.

"Certainly sir. Right this way…"

Hogan gave General Patton a quick tour of the camp above ground, hitting the main buildings such as the Rec Hall, Mess, Cooler, and Delousing Station, to give him an idea of what the men faced who agreed to remain here. Finally, they ended up at Barrack 2.

Hogan opened the door and barked "Ten-hut!". As the men dropped what they were doing and scrambled to attention, General Patton entered on Hogan's heels, stopping near the central stove.

"Gentlemen, may I present General Patton. There will be a formal camp-wide ceremony at 1100. In the mean time, he's having a look around at what we've done here. General, my central staff."

"At ease, men," said Patton. "Colonel Hogan has been telling me of some of your adventures here. Mighty fine work. Congratulations. Now Hogan, where is this tunnel of yours?"

"Over here, General," said Hogan, stepping towards the proper bunk. Hitting the sweet spot twice triggered the hidden mechanism, dropping the ladder and raising the sleeping platform.

"Ingenious," said Patton in admiration as he neared the bunk and peered down into the depths. "And it was never discovered?"

"Never, although we came close on a couple of occasions. After you sir," replied Hogan, indicating the General should climb down first. Hogan followed, pausing on the third rung just before he disappeared below to call out "As you were" to the men in the barracks.

"Holy cats!" exclaimed Carter, dropping onto his bunk in amazement. "General Patton! Here in our barracks!"

"You said it, mate," replied Newkirk, fumbling to get out a cigarette and light it. "I reckon the gov'na wasna expectin' 'im to drop in for tea today."

"You know what this means, _mes amis_," said LeBeau excitedly. "_Mon Colonel_ won't be a _Colonel_ much longer."

"You're probably right, Louis. General Patton's gonna give Colonel Hogan his General's star. Today! Wowee!" said Carter, getting keyed up too.

"What's this about Rob getting his promotion?" asked Tom, who had just entered the barracks and missed all the earlier excitement. "And who do all the trucks in the compound belong to?"

"Where've you been, Tom?" asked Newkirk. "Your General Patton's been 'ere. The gov'na's got 'im on the nickle tour; they's currently in the tunnels. Big assembly at 1100. We're guessin' the Colonel's gonna be gettin' 'is star."

"Holy mackerel! And I missed all that? Oh man! Well, at least I won't be missing the main event. Rob must be over the moon."

"Not likely," replied Newkirk. "Colonel 'ogan never was one to put 'imself on the front lines for accolades, only for protectin' us, despite our attempts to the contrary."

LeBeau and Carter nodded in agreement.

Tom sighed. "Yeah, you're right. That's sounds more like the Rob I know. Always putting others ahead of himself."

* * *

At 1100 everyone fell into formation in the compound. The German prisoners were present and even Klink and Hochstetter were brought out of the cooler under guard. Colonel Hogan had changed into his Class A dress uniform, as had General Patton and his aides.

The tour of the tunnels had gone well; Patton had been amazed at the scope and depth of the setup and resources the team had been able to put together, and had asked dozens of questions. It had actually taken longer than either man had planned, which left them with very little time to get changed. Now they were standing beside the Commandant's building with the rest of the camp members in formation out front.

"Ten-hut!" shouted one of Patton's aides and the men snapped to attention. Patton climbed the steps of the porch and turned to address the assembly.

"At ease," ordered the General. "For those who don't know me, I am General Patton, US Army. I have come here today for several reasons. My first order of business is to announce the promotion of Colonel Robert Hogan to Brigadier General."

Hogan marched forward and joined Patton on the porch while his men cheered and applauded. In the back, Schultz and Klink both looked a little proud, while Hochstetter seethed.

"It is with pride and honour that I present you with this star as recognition of the continuing selfless service you have demonstrated throughout this conflict. As such, Colonel Robert Hogan is hereby promoted to the grade of Brigadier General, United States Army Air Corps," said Patton as he removed Hogan's eagles from his epaulets and replaced them with a single shining star. When he was finished, both men saluted. "Brigadier General Robert Hogan," announced Patton to more applause by his remaining men. "Now raise your right hand and repeat after me. I, insert name…"

"I, Robert Hogan," repeated the new General.

"Do solemnly swear," prompted Patton.

"Do solemnly swear," echoed Hogan.

The two officers continued the Oath of Office, with Hogan repeating each line.

"…that I will support and defend…"

"…the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic;"

"…that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;"

"…that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion;"

"…and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God," finished Hogan, then dropped his hand to his side.

"It is also my pleasure to announce General Hogan's new posting: he will be stationed in Munich as my Second in Command as Operational Commander of Bavaria," declared Patton. The two Generals shook hands and then Hogan moved to the back of the porch while Patton addressed the camp's inhabitants.

"The second item on the agenda pertains directly to the German POWs, formerly the Stalag's guards. The time has come for you to return to your homes. We no longer see any need to hold you as prisoners. Trucks have been brought which will take you to processing centers in major cities near your hometowns. From there you will receive your discharge papers. The trucks will be departing this afternoon, so once dismissed, please see to the packing of any personal items. Major Sullivan will be coordinating the departures and posting a schedule.

"Item three," continued the General. "Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Luftwaffe, and Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter, Gestapo, will be taken to Nürnberg, the city chosen to host the war crimes trials. They will be held there in advance of their trials, which are scheduled to begin by early fall.

"Finally, a plane has been arranged to pick up the remaining members of General Hogan's team. A truck will be leaving at 0930 tomorrow to take you to the airstrip, where you will be flown to London for a full debriefing session over the coming weeks.

"Gentlemen, I wish to thank all of you for your commitment to duty and your sacrifices in staying with General Hogan. Dismissed!"

* * *

Hogan rapped on the door of Klink's old quarters, knowing General Patton had made use of the space to change uniforms. After waiting for a moment, the door opened, revealing Patton in his regular service uniform.

"Ah, Hogan. Something troubling you?" asked Patton, indicating he should come inside.

"What makes you think that, sir?" asked Hogan as he moved in from the foyer to the living room.

"Because you're still in your Class 'A's. Anyone I know wants to get out of them as quickly as possible when given the choice," replied Patton with a bit of a grin.

"Well, yes sir, there is something bothering me," admitted Hogan slowly before falling silent, not sure how to continue.

"Care to share then?" prompted Patton. "As my Second in Command, I'll expect you to be open with me."

Hogan sighed. "I'll be blunt, sir: it's my new posting."

"You don't think you'll be able to handle being my Second?" asked Patton.

"I'm not even sure I'm going to still be in the Air Corps!" exclaimed Hogan with a hint of anger.

"You're not planning on retiring so soon are you? You've got a lot of good years left in you yet," said Patton with a slightly concerned look on his features.

"Frankly, sir, it's this," said Hogan, holding up his still bandaged hand. "I don't even know if I'm going to get full use of it back and there's still the possibility I'll have to have surgery on it."

"And you think it will hold you back from doing your job," stated Patton plainly. "Hogan, being a General is different. You're not on the front lines, even if there was a conflict going on. We need experienced men who are good planners, swift thinkers, and have a knack for seeing the big picture and what little changes can mean to the end result. From what I've seen and heard, you fit that description to a tee. A small matter of a few malfunctioning fingers shouldn't hold you back. We've had several high-ranking Generals who suffered injuries in World War One but still retained their commission."

"So I won't be honourably discharged for having a disability?" asked Hogan incredulously. The possibility of being allowed to stay in the service had barely crossed his mind.

"No, not such a mild one as that. Maybe if you were missing an arm or a leg…" replied Patton. "Any other reason you want to get out from under my command?"

"No sir! It will be an honour to serve with you," said Hogan, the furrows which had creased his brow on arrival disappearing as an easy smile brightened his face.

"Good. Then I'll see you in Munich in a month or so. Good bye, Hogan," said Patton as he picked up his suitcase and headed out of Klink's old quarters.

"Good bye, sir. And thanks!" called Hogan as his new superior disappeared out the door.

* * *

By the time Hogan had changed his uniform, the former German prisoners were beginning to fill the trucks in the compound. Many had duffel bags slung over their shoulders containing their personal belongings as they queued up behind the appropriate vehicle for where they were headed.

The team was already gathered around Schultz when Hogan added himself to their number.

"Good luck, Schultzie, we're going to miss you," said LeBeau, clapping the large former guard on the shoulder.

"'ere,'ere, I'll second that," said Newkirk, also patting Schultz on the arm. "The war wouldn't 'ave been the same without you. Oh and don't forget your watch," added Newkirk, offering the timepiece back to its owner.

"Newkirk! How did you… oh never mind. You boys always were such jolly jokers. I will miss all of you. You must write to me and let me know what you are doing with yourselves after the war. I want to hear all about the pretty frauleins you are going to marry, and the kinders you'll have, and everything," insisted Schultz as he made his way to the truck bound for Heidelberg.

"Not to worry, Schultz," said Carter. "We'll keep in touch. Won't we fellas?" Nods of agreement went around the group.

"You planning on reopening your toy company?" asked Hogan.

"I do not know. I will have to see what shape it is in since it was converted to ammunition production. It is a shame; the Schatzi Toy Company was the largest toy company in all of Germany before the war and I loved making all the toys for the kinder. To see their faces light up with joy made it all worthwhile," said Schultz regretfully.

"Well, I hope things work out for you, Schultz. If you need anything, I'll be in Munich. Not sure exactly what I'll be doing, but hopefully I can pull a few strings for you if you want," replied Hogan. "I owe you that much at least for looking the other way for such a long time."

"_Danke_, General," said Schultz. "I will keep it in mind."

By now it was time for Schultz to climb aboard his truck. Just before getting on board, Schultz turned back and embraced each of Hogan's team, getting all teary-eyed as he did so, then managed to haul himself up into the rear of the truck with a bit of help. Soon it was in motion following the others, speeding out the main gates, with Schultz waving from the back until it was out of sight. After the vehicles left, the gates remained open.

"There's a sight I never thought I'd see," commented Hogan as the rest of his team stood beside him.

"Wot's that sir?" asked Newkirk as he lit a cigarette and took a drag.

"The gates. They left them open now there are no prisoners."

"Well, other than Klink and Hochstetter but they're locked up tighter than a drum in the old cooler. Yes siree, boy, they aren't going anywhere, no way, no how. They're like little mice, trapped in a cage…"

"Carter…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Can it, will ya?" ordered Hogan with a smile as he continued to stare at the open gates.

"Uh, yes sir," replied Carter sheepishly as the others just grinned. Newkirk pushed Carter's hat over his eyes as the group turned and headed back inside the barrack.

* * *

"So you've come to gloat at last, have you?" asked Hochstetter scornfully when he realized who was outside his cell door.

"Perhaps a little," admitted the man with a smirk, actually enjoying the discomfort of the man in the cell.

"Bah! _General_ _Hogan_. The man who would be king," mocked the former Gestapo officer.

"With one major difference, Hochstetter; I'm still alive. And while my kingdom is changing a bit, I no longer have to worry about the natives wanting my head," replied Hogan. "I wasn't aware you knew Kipling."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Hogan," said Hochstetter dismissively.

"Well we never truly got past the 'you're a saboteur and spy' / 'no I'm not' routine and into the small talk, although I did try on occasion. You were always so uptight you'd lost one of your bridges or factories or some such. Didn't make for much of a relationship," said Hogan with mock wistfulness.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Hochstetter, looking up from where he sat on the cell's bench. "I've been locked up in here for at least three weeks. Why visit now?"

"You're leaving in a couple of hours. Figured I should give you the chance to clear the air…"

"Feeling guilty?" asked Hochstetter as he rose to face the cell door.

"No, are you?" asked Hogan.

"Not in the least. I did my duty as an officer of the Third Reich," said Hochstetter proudly.

"You kidnapped my brother and beat him to a pulp for revenge!" snapped Hogan angrily.

"Bah! I brought a saboteur to justice and was betrayed by my own countryman!" shouted Hochstetter, equally as angry. Both men stared at each other, eyes flashing.

Eventually, Hogan stepped back from the bars to regroup and Hochstetter paced a little in his cell.

"Do you want to see the Operation?" Hogan asked suddenly.

"To rub my nose in it? No, thank you," sneered Hochstetter.

"I thought you might be curious; it will probably be your last chance. The Brass hasn't decided what to do with this place. As of right now, it's to remain intact until your trial and Klink's are over; after that, who knows?"

Hochstetter remained stubbornly silent.

"Fine. I suppose there isn't much more to say to each other. Good luck with your trial. I imagine I'll be seeing you there," said Hogan at last.

"You'd love to see me hang," replied Hochstetter with a touch of malice.

"Actually, no I wouldn't," admitted Hogan. "We've had our differences in the past but those were based solely on what our duty required us to do. While I never was a fan of the Gestapo or its methods, despite everything we've been through, I don't believe you deserve to die for it."

"Hmph," grunted Hochstetter grudgingly.

When Hogan received no further reply, he turned to leave the cooler, having said his piece to Hochstetter. He had only taken a few steps when he heard Hochstetter come to the cell door.

"Hogan, wait," called Hochstetter.

Hogan turned around and waited patiently, not moving any closer to the cell and making Hochstetter work for each little concession.

"Yes, I would," admitted Hochstetter.

"You would what?" asked Hogan, feigning confusion.

"I would like to see your Operation before leaving," ground out Hochstetter, his anger rising again.

Hogan debated internally on baiting the former Gestapo man even further, but decided it would be for the best if he didn't. Nodding once in acknowledgement, he pulled out the keys to Hochstetter's cell, which he had borrowed from the guard on duty outside the cooler. Striding over to the cell, he put the key in the lock and looked Hochstetter in the eye.

"Promise you'll be on your best behaviour and won't try to escape?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at the prisoner.

"_Ehrenwort_," replied Hochstetter seriously.

Hogan twisted the key and the bolt slid back with a clunk. He gave the door a slight tug and it swung back easily, allowing Hochstetter to walk out into the hall. Silently, Hochstetter followed Hogan out of the cooler and across the compound to Barracks 2.

The boys looked up from their packing as Hogan and Hochstetter entered the building. Taking one look at their guest and Hogan's face, they quickly dropped what they were doing and filed out of the hut, leaving the two men alone. Or at least they thought they were.

"What is he doing here?" demanded Tom as he came out from Hogan's office to see why things had gotten so quiet in the main room and spotted Hochstetter standing beside his brother.

"Ease off, Tom. He only came for a tour of the Operation before he left," replied Rob.

"How did he get you to agree to that?" asked Tom coolly.

"_He_ didn't. _I_ invited him," stressed Rob. "Perhaps it would be better if you went out with the others," suggested Rob casually.

"Perhaps it would be better if I stayed and watched your back!" exclaimed Tom. "I don't trust him, Rob."

"He swore he'd be on his best behaviour. I'm starting to believe I can't trust you to get him to Nürnberg in one piece! Now I said to back off and I meant it," said Rob crossly. "The Operation will be one of the key factors in his trial, so he deserves to know what it was we managed to conceal from him for so long."

"And if I leave you alone with him for one minute, he'll attack you out of a twisted need for further revenge," spat Tom, fists clenching as he watched Hochstetter like a hawk. "You've only just got your hand mostly functioning again. Don't risk it on the likes of him."

"That is enough Captain! You're dismissed," snapped Rob.

"Yeah, sure, pull rank," glowered Tom as he moved towards the barrack door. "Just don't blame me when I say 'I told you so'."

"Tom, I said I trusted him, so trust me, will ya?" appealed Rob.

"Fine," he replied brusquely as he went out the door, slamming it behind him.

* * *

Hochstetter was shown every last inch of the Operation, including things Hogan had previously left out of the tours by Klink and Patton such as the sink periscope, coffee pot tap, and hidey holes like under the wood pile and in the bench. Everything was fascinating to Hochstetter, who absorbed it all like a sponge and marveled at the team's ingenuity. In the end, he knew in his heart he had been out-classed by Hogan and his men. He, like Klink, had never stood a chance; Hogan simply had too many resources at his disposal.

Hochstetter was a perfect gentleman throughout the entire tour. It was as they reached the main tunnel access to Barracks 2 Hochstetter stopped and asked Hogan a question which had been weighing on his mind the whole time.

"Tell me, Hogan, why did you do it?"

"What? Start the Operation?" asked Hogan, bewildered as to what Hochstetter was referring.

"Nein. Why did you defend me against your brother? Why cause a rift between you? There's no love lost between the two of us; why choose my side?" asked Hochstetter.

"Because Tom needs to learn not to lock himself into his opinions of people. People are influenced by the happenings around them and they can change. It is a lesson I've gotten burned on once or twice in my past but I've learned to trust my gut. I knew when you gave me your word of honour you'd behave then you would. It's as simple as that. Regardless of everything else, you've shown you are an honourable man."

"What makes you so certain?" asked Hochstetter with a curious look on his face.

"Never once did you plant evidence to make me appear guilty. There were several times you sent in spies to try to catch me in the act, but not once did you cheat and fake your findings. No, you wanted to catch me fair and square."

"Which I did," said Hochstetter arrogantly, thrusting his chest out with pride.

"Yes, you did," agreed Hogan. "Thanks to Colonel Norbert," he added smugly to make sure Hochstetter didn't inflate his ego too much. "Tom and I will be fine," Hogan continued. "I'll set it right before he leaves, which will be very soon. We'd better get you back to the cooler before Sullivan thinks something's happened to you."

"Thank you, General. I never thought we'd ever find ourselves having a civilized conversation. I think this tour has been very revealing, in more ways than one."

* * *

By the time Hogan got top-side again, there was only about half an hour until the truck was scheduled to leave for Nürnberg. Hogan had Private Perkins return Hochstetter to the cooler to wait while he went to find Tom.

Tom had holed himself up in Hogan's quarters again once Rob and Hochstetter had disappeared into the tunnel. Rob found him sprawled on the bottom bunk leafing through an old comic from one of the guys.

"Tom…"

Tom flicked a quick glance up before returning to his reading, obviously ignoring his brother. Rob tried again.

"Look, Tom–"

"Do you ever liken yourself to any of these characters?" Tom broke in suddenly, laying the comic down on his lap.

"What do you mean?" asked Rob, curious as to what his brother was thinking.

"Well, take this Superman character for example: secret alter-ego, running around all hours of the day helping others, seemingly being in two places at once, flying – although you need a plane… Sounds an awful lot like Papa Bear to me," said Tom.

"I don't look good in blue tights," deadpanned Rob.

Tom snorted, tossing the comic to the foot of the bed. "I see you were right about Hochstetter. How did you know?"

"Hochstetter's always been a man of honour and he gave me his word. Besides, he had nothing to gain by attacking me; the war is over and there is no one left to prove anything to. The falling of the Third Reich and my resurrection for the second time made him a little unstable for awhile, that's all."

"Well, I'm glad I don't have to tell you 'I told you so'," said Tom. "I'm much happier having you right, in this case at least."

"Good, because your truck to Nürnberg is about to leave and I'd like to know everyone is going to arrive there in one piece," replied Hogan. "It's about a two hour trip so you should make it for evening Mess."

Conversation lulled for a few minutes as the two brothers looked at each other. Both had things they wanted to say but neither could find the words to voice the emotions they were feeling.

"Guess this is goodbye, little brother. I'm glad we had a chance to spend some time together. It's a miracle we found each other in this crazy war. Take care until we can meet again. I should make it to the trial."

"Yeah, goodbye Rob. We should try to get home to see Mom and Dad sometime soon. Maybe we can arrange furlough together. Know anybody who could pull a few strings?"

"What? And pull rank?" scoffed Rob jokingly. "Yeah, a trip home sounds great. Hopefully Scott can join us too."

"Wonder how much longer they'll keep fighting in the Pacific? I'm worried about him," confessed Tom.

"Me too. But we know he's had thorough training and we can just hope that even though he's a Hogan, he can keep out of trouble and come home safe."

The brothers embraced tightly for a few moments before breaking apart. Rob ruffled Tom's hair, then moved to open the door to his quarters. Together they went out to the compound, timing it perfectly such that Klink and Hochstetter were just being led from the cooler as they arrived by their truck. Sullivan had provided extra guards who would be traveling as escorts, keeping an eye on the prisoners.

Hochstetter reached the truck first. There was nothing more to be said between him and Hogan, so he simply nodded to the General and climbed aboard with his escort. Klink was not that far behind.

"Colonel," greeted Hogan.

"General," replied Klink. "Congratulations by the way. I haven't had a chance to speak with you since your promotion this morning. Very much deserved."

"Thank you," said Hogan graciously. "I'm sorry I can't go with you to Nürnberg, but I'm planning on making it for the trial. I'm sure things will work out well in the end."

"I understand. Thanks for everything, even if I don't know what everything is, if you know what I mean," said Klink.

"Yeah, I do. Good luck," replied Hogan.

Klink offered Hogan a salute, which was returned, before climbing onto the truck to sit across from Hochstetter.

"This is it, big bro'," said Tom, offering his hand to Rob. Rob took it firmly and pulled Tom into another quick hug.

"You take care and stay out of trouble," lectured Rob with a twinkle in his eye.

Tom laughed. "I'll try my best but you know us and trouble: we're married to it."

Rob chuckled. "Might be the only thing I ever do marry, other than Lady Luck."

"You could do worse. I think Eunice Mayfield is still available," countered Tom, jumping in the rear of the vehicle before Rob could punch him in the arm. Eunice was a girl from their hometown who had a major crush on Rob when they were growing up. The only problem was Eunice had pop-bottle bottom glasses, buck teeth, greasy hair, and a face full of acne. Pretty came nowhere near her much to Rob's chagrin.

"Funny," replied Rob with a grimace. "Bye Tom. Love you."

"Bye Rob! Back at ya!" yelled Tom as the truck moved forward and headed out of camp.

* * *

The guys had just finished coming from evening Mess and were walking across the compound to the barracks. They were in the middle of making plans to go into town for a celebratory drink at the _Hofbrau_ for their last night at camp, when they spotted Captain Nichols heading their way.

"Message just came in from London, General," said Captain Nichols, handing Hogan a slip of paper before heading back into the Commandant's office. With the Operation's radio pretty much permanently shut down, their communication was coming through regular channels now.

"What's it say, _mon General_?" asked LeBeau, who happened to be standing near Hogan when Captain Nichols found him.

"It's from General Butler," said Hogan as he read. "Apparently, the FBI has investigated my parents' neighbours. One couple in the house across the street were found to have some suspicious equipment in their home, along with some recognition codes for contacting German U-boats. They've been arrested for conspiracy to commit treason."

"That's good news, ain't it, sir?" asked Newkirk from where he was leaning against the barracks wall.

"Yeah," replied Hogan, slowly as if he was slightly distracted. "Good news. Excuse me," he said and wandered off to his quarters.

"Guess that drink's on hold, mates," observed Newkirk as he watched the gov'na disappear inside.

* * *

Hogan sat on the lower bunk in his office, thankfully alone. It had been a long, tiring day, and full of surprises. First General Patton arriving out of the blue with his star, then having to say good bye to Schultz and the other guards, Klink, Hochstetter, and Tom. Tomorrow he'd be leaving too, returning to London for a brief period with his team before returning to Germany and his posting in Munich.

Word of the spies being captured had brought a slew of memories back of the night Hochstetter had told him his parents thought he was dead and how close he had come to making it true.

Hogan pulled out the ID tag that had been hidden in his jacket pocket ever since he had removed it from his neck back in Berlin when Carter had given him his own tags back. He read the name punched into the metal and ran his thumb over the lettering: Erlich Strauss. Suddenly, Hogan knew there was some place he had to go, still some demons to lay to rest.

Heading out of the barracks, Hogan crossed the compound and walked out the front gates, stopping at the edge of the road by a small clearing. He had been avoiding this tiny area ever since returning to camp. Even when driving past on his way to and from town, he had made sure to steer clear of looking in this direction. Finally, he knew he could ignore it no longer if he wanted to put the last of this whole assignment completely behind him before he was scheduled to leave tomorrow.

There in the little grassy area, surrounded by trees just off the side of the road, was a grave. Not just any grave, but _his_ grave. The one containing a crude wooden coffin with rope handles, filled with dirt and marked with an unfinished cross made from a couple of planks nailed together. The carving in the wood was angular and rough, but he could read it clearly and it made his heart clench painfully.

_Hogan, Robert E.__, Colonel  
__US Army Air Corps__  
July 13, 1906 – April 1, 1945  
__He protected us all by giving his all_

A lump rose unbidden in his throat as he read the epitaph and he realized he never truly was 'Colonel Hogan' again after the execution; a month of being Erlich Strauss followed by the return to camp and being 'almost-General Hogan' while not truly being in command of anybody had seen to that. If anything, 'Colonel Hogan' really was buried here, for his life had changed drastically ever since the fateful day Norbert had re-entered his life and thrust the assignment upon him. Hogan briefly wondered if he would ever discover what had become of Norbert but decided he didn't care.

Hogan sat cross-legged in the grass at the end of the grave staring at the symbol which marked his exit from the Operation. In his pocket, he continuously rubbed his thumb over Strauss' ID tag, feeling the raised lettering and letting the motion soothe his fraying emotions.

"It was the worst day of my life; even more than the night I was shot down. I can still see the muzzles of the guns facing me, Hochstetter with his gloating, victorious grin. The word 'fire' echoes around my mind, haunting my dreams in the wee hours of the morning and I wonder when it will all go away."

Hogan shifted to sit with his knees up and rested his arms on them, bringing the ID tag out from its hiding spot. As he spoke, he continued to rub it, play with it, and flip it over and over.

"I had to execute a man when I was Strauss. I know if the man had been captured after the fall of Berlin, he would have been held for war crimes and most probably hung. He was the enemy and he would have been dead either way, but still, it was like taking Hochstetter's role. I almost couldn't give the commands the flashbacks were so intense. But I was forced to do the one thing Hochstetter wasn't; I pulled the trigger on the headshot."

Hogan stopped fiddling with the tag, clenching it tight and staring at it intensely, trying to block out the sight of Fegelein's brains splattering against the ground as a result of his bullet.

"Sometimes I have twisted nightmares where I'm executing myself. I hear my own voice call the commands as I stand in front the firing squad, then look up to see my own face behind the gun barrel aiming to send me into oblivion before I wake with a start."

Hogan looked up at the grave marker, tag hanging loosely from his fingers. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"How much longer are you going to stand there?" Hogan asked suddenly.

"I was kind of waiting for you to finish getting it all off your chest. I knew something bad had been bothering you but Tom couldn't tell me what it was exactly," came the reply as a figure emerged from the trees to sit at Hogan's side. "Besides, I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable talking with me. Kinch was always the first one you'd talk with, then Newkirk once he left. I sort of became your Second in Command by default."

"Is that what you believe? Klink may have appointed you SPO before I had a chance to think about it, but he opened my eyes to someone I'd overlooked for way too long. I had the option of putting anyone I wanted in charge of the Operation before I left, but I decided you were up to the task, if only you had faith in yourself. With Newkirk, LeBeau, and Baker backing you, and the experience you've gained over the last couple of years, you've come to be a good leader. You just needed someone to believe in you."

"Thanks, sir," said Carter modestly, a slight tint of red dappling his cheeks.

"What are you planning on doing after the war? Still going to get your druggist's degree?" asked Hogan.

"I was going to look into it but I'm not sure if it's for me anymore. It sounds awfully boring after the last few years, but I guess there's not much call for blowing up German bridges now the war is over," replied Carter with a grin. "I guess anything I do won't have the same excitement but counting out little pills all day sure could be dull after a few weeks and it takes so much to get there."

"You can do it if it's what you want, Carter, but you have to want it here," Hogan tapped Carter's chest just over his heart, "as well as here," Hogan tapped Carter's temple, "in order to succeed. I can give you another option if you want."

"Really?" asked Carter eagerly, his eyes lighting up like a boy on Christmas morning. "I mean, really?" asked Carter again, toning down the response to sound more nonchalant.

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Yes, really. How would you like a chance to rebuild some of what you blew up the past few years?" he asked.

"What did you have in mind?" asked Carter, curious as to what his commander was cooking up this time.

"I'll be in need of a good aide once I take the post under General Patton. I can put in a word for you at Officer Training School, probably fast track you on a few courses, especially given your years of service and experience. With the promotions due to everyone in camp, you could come out as a First Lieutenant, possibly make Captain depending on your grades. Then come back here and help me rebuild," offered Hogan.

"Gee, sir, that's mighty fine of you to offer, but I'm just not ready to make a decision right now. I want to go home, see the folks for a bit, and see Mary Jane. I know I've changed since I left and I need to find out if there's anything still there for me. But I'll keep it in mind."

"I understand completely, Carter," replied Hogan. "But if you change your mind before the end of summer, let me know."

"Thanks, Colonel. I mean General. That sounds so weird; I think you'll always be Colonel to me," said Carter.

"Yeah, well, it's pretty strange for me too," agreed Hogan. The two men sat in silence for awhile, enjoying the late afternoon breeze as it made the wildflowers dance in the clearing. The sun was starting to set, casting the field in a faint tinge of orange.

"I was attacked by a dog once when I was very little. Every time I saw a dog from then on, I was scared stiff. I even saw dogs in my dreams, growling and snapping at me. I used to wake up in a cold sweat and not be able to get back to sleep. My grandfather finally told me I had to talk about it and not let the dog have so much power over me. The more I spoke with him, told him of my fears and what happened, the less I dreamed. I even ended up with a dog as a pet by the time I was a teenager. I used to go everywhere with that dog. He was my best friend. The point is, the nightmares will fade with time. The more you talk about it, the less hold they'll have over you and before long, you won't have them anymore. You've just got to let go." Carter stood up and brushed off his pants. "Just something to think about, sir."

Hogan looked up and watched his young Sergeant as he reached the main road and ambled back to camp. Hogan turned back to the grave and the ID tag in his hand. Getting up, he found a sturdy stick and began to dig just in front of the grave marker. When he had a deep enough hole, Hogan dropped the stick and stood still. He eyed the camp. He looked at the ID tag and looked back at the camp, where he spotted Carter in the compound watching him. Carter nodded and smiled, then walked away, leaving Hogan alone.

Hogan looked down at the hole he had dug and dropped Strauss' ID tag in it. Using the toe of his shoe, he pushed the dirt in to fill the hole and tamped it down. Colonel Hogan, a.k.a. Papa Bear was finished. The last remaining evidence of Erlich Strauss was buried. General Hogan felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders and his heart.

Whistling, Hogan headed back into camp, hands stuffed in his pockets and a spring in his step that had been missing for far too long. The future was looking brighter already.

* * *

A/N: Rudyard Kipling wrote "The Man Who Would Be King" in 1888. It is the story of two adventurers from India who set off to become kings in Kafiristan. The Kafirs declare one of the men a god, but when he is injured and bleeds, they discover the duplicity and kill him. The other adventurer survives his execution and is let go, only to go mad and die of sunstroke.

Superman was introduced in June 1938 in Action Comics No. 1. WWII was the Golden Age of superhero comics, but post-war, they began to be dropped with most of them being phased out by 1952. Only Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman continued to publish, with Archie, Disney, sci-fi, and westerns taking center stage instead.


	48. Chapter 48: March 24, 1946, Epilogue

March 24, 1946

_Munich, Germany__, American Zone of Occupation_

"Welcome back, General," said the Corporal manning the front desk. "Congratulations! Missed you around here."

"Thanks, Corporal. Anything important happen while I was State-side?" asked the General, setting down his briefcase and signing in.

"Nothing spectacular," replied the Corporal, handing the General a security pass.

"Right then, carry on," said the General, picking up his case and heading for his office. His heels made soft clicking noises on the tile floor of the hall as he walked. People came to attention as he passed, showing their respects to the Occupational Commander of Bavaria.

He arrived at his office and greeted his WAC Sergeant who was busy typing at her desk in the front office.

"Good to have you back, sir," said the Sergeant. "And congratulations. Your new ribbon looks quite spectacular."

"Thanks, Sergeant," replied the General, wondering how many more times today he would have to go through a similar conversation. "Corporal Collins said all was quiet while I was gone?"

"For the most part, sir. There's a brief summary on your desk of everything that happened while you were away. The new Captain is here and waiting for you. Shall I have him brought to your office?"

"Give me ten minutes to get settled and then bring him in," replied the General,

Entering his office, the General hung his cover on the coat rack just inside the door and put his briefcase down on his desk, opening it and removing a healthy stack of file folders barely managing to contain their papers. Moving the empty case to the floor, the General sorted the dossiers into several different piles. He found the report the Sergeant had said was waiting for him and scanned it briefly. She had been right, nothing unusual had occurred while he was away. He put the folder off to the side to study in detail later.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the Sergeant poking her head in.

"Settled sir?" she asked.

"As good as it's going to get for now. Show him in and make sure we get coffee," replied the General.

"Yes, sir." The Sergeant opened the door fully and spoke to the Captain. "The General will see you now, sir."

The Captain nodded his thanks to the Sergeant, who closed the door behind him. The Captain snapped to attention in front of the General's desk.

"Captain Andrew Carter reports to Major General Hogan, sir!" he barked.

Hogan chucked at the formality. "At ease Captain," he said, "and have a seat." As Carter sat down, Hogan continued, "Congratulations Carter. Making Captain is quite an accomplishment."

"I couldn't have done it without you sir, recommending me for Officer training and all," replied Carter modestly.

"Having command for over a month at camp and then running a mission to rescue your CO meant it wasn't difficult to get you in and fast track your training. I hope you aren't regretting not getting your druggists degree."

"Not so far, sir, but it is only my first day on the job." The two men chuckled. "Being a druggist would have been okay, but everyone coming out of the service seems to be going to university and getting in would have been difficult, not to mention expensive."

"Don't put yourself down, Carter. You would have made it if you had put your mind to it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but when you said you'd take me on as your aide if I would complete the required courses, it wasn't hard to make a decision." Carter shifted in his chair. "I guess congratulations are in order for you too, sir. How was your trip?"

"The worst part of flying back and forth over the Atlantic is not being able to pilot the plane," said Hogan with a grin, then he sighed. "Even without this little problem, the US Army Air Force tends to frown on its Generals piloting their own aircraft," he continued, indicating his left hand which was slightly deformed and showed signs of scarring. Hogan had come to terms with the fact his pinkie and ring fingers no longer moved the way they should, the result of a run-in with Soviet soldiers at the end of the war last year. He was actually pleased to have regained as much use of it as he had, the result of corrective surgery in the summer of '45 followed by months of exercises to regain the muscle control.

The WAC Sergeant chose this moment to appear with their coffees. Handing one to each officer, she quickly retreated to the outer office, shutting the door behind her as she went.

"I bet they do. But the ceremony?" prompted Carter, taking a sip and wincing as it burned his tongue.

"All nice and proper, long and boring. The President made a speech, I said a few words and then he hung the bit of jewellery around my neck. And pictures galore. Thought my face was going to crack from having to smile so much," moaned Hogan modestly.

"Sir, I'd hardly call the Medal of Honor a 'piece of jewellery'. It's the highest military decoration anyone can earn for bravery and gallantry at the risk of your life above and beyond the call of duty."

"Carter, I know what it was for, I just don't want to dwell on why I was chosen to receive it," replied Hogan seriously, hugging his coffee cup for warmth as a sudden chill swept through his body.

"I guess it has been almost a year, hasn't it?" said Carter thoughtfully. "You're not still having nightmares are you?" he asked, concern showing plainly on his features.

"Rarely, although I've had a few more recently the closer we get to April," admitted Hogan. "I think this award thing has stirred it all up again, but this should be the final one – I hope."

Hogan had been on the receiving end of several medals and decorations – so many in fact Carter wondered how it would be possible to put any more ribbons on the front of the General's uniform. After the war had ended, all the members of the team had been presented with Distinguished Service Crosses in recognition of the constant danger and heroism they had displayed over the years while running the Operation. King George had made Hogan an Officer of the Order of the British Empire in a ceremony full of pomp and majesty. Not to be outdone, the French had presented Hogan with the French Croix de Guerre – for his acts of bravery and valor when aiding and supporting the Resistance. Hogan also received an oak cluster to add to his Purple Heart ribbon for the injury to his hand.

The Operation itself had been declassified in October of 1945, just prior to the beginning of the war trials in Nürnburg in November. The revelation brought instant fame to Hogan and his core team, much to their chagrin. They were all a great deal happier being the "Unsung Heroes" they used to go by on the BBC radio broadcasts. The Operation was made public in order to be able to submit evidence in the trials against Wolfgang Hochstetter and Wilhelm Klink. The fervour died down somewhat after Hogan received his second General's star, Klink received a commuted sentence to 1500 hours of community service work, and Hochstetter got 20 years in prison.

Now Hogan was stationed in Munich, the capital of Bavaria in West Germany. The country had been divided according to Operation Eclipse, with the United States controlling the region to the south. General Dwight D. Eisenhower was the Military Governor of the US Occupation Zone and based in Frankfurt Am Main. General George S. Patton had been appointed Occupational Commander of Bavaria under Eisenhower immediately following VE Day, and Hogan had been stationed under Patton until disaster struck on December 9, 1945. General Patton was involved in a car accident in Heidelburg, and he succumbed to his injuries on December 21st. Upon Patton's death, Hogan had retained the posting.

It was a good assignment, in the fact Hogan got to help the people he had been working with in and around Stalag 13, as Hammelburg was part of Bavaria. Munich, or München as the Germans called it, required a ton of rebuilding alone. It had been bombed seventy-one times over the six year period of World War II. Hogan found himself authorizing the reconstruction of bridges, buildings, and rail lines, many of which he was the one to order destroyed with Carter's explosives in the first place. Now Carter had come to help him finish the job of rebuilding.

"Well, if you ever need to talk about it, I'm about the only one you can't talk to sir," offered Carter. "Seeing as how you haven't already told me about the mission which never existed and all…" Carter winked.

Hogan shook his head and tried to think his way through what Carter had said. He gave up before it gave him a headache. Some things never change it seemed.

All traces of Erlich Strauss had been eliminated from history. It had taken a bit of work to ensure there were no lingering documents bearing Hogan's assumed name; from orders issued from the Reich Chancellery and Führerbunker, to the ledger at the Hotel Adlon. There was now no evidence Erlich Strauss had ever existed.

"Alright then Carter, let's see about getting you an office…"

* * *

The phone on the desk buzzed.

"Yes, Sergeant, what is it?" asked Hogan after pressing the proper button to activate the intercom.

"Phone call for you, sir. It's the British gentleman again, keeps insisting he has to talk to you and no one else," replied the WAC Sergeant from her desk outside Hogan's office.

"This the one whom you reported had called seventeen times while I was away?" asked Hogan.

"Correct, sir. Won't give his name, just that he is 'a long time friend of the Governor's' and must speak with you directly."

"Alright, then, put him through," agreed Hogan. _Might as well see what this nut-job wants and get this over with._

Hogan snapped up the phone as soon as it began ringing. "Major General Hogan."

"Gov'na! Right pleasure to 'ear your voice at last. Been tryin' a dog's age to get through to ya," came the voice from the other end.

"Newkirk?" asked Hogan incredulously. He should have put two and two together from the 'Governor' comment the WAC made.

"Spot on, sir! 'ow you doin'? Rumour 'as it you got another bit o' the sparkle for your uniform, as if you needed any more. Congratulations!"

"Well, yes, I just got back from two weeks the States; that's why you haven't been able to reach me. I take it you've been trying for a while."

"Sounds like I started tryin' just after you left, trust me luck. 'ow was your trip?"

"Good. Finally snagged some furlough and spent five days at home with the folks before having to spend the rest of the time in meetings in Washington. Tom and Scott managed to be there at the same time too, so it was a major family reunion. First time we'd all been home together since before the war began."

"Glad to 'ere it. You were long overdue to go 'ome and spend time with your family. Bet they gave you a real grand 'omecomin'. Anyway, sir, LeBeau and me need your 'elp."

"You're not in trouble with the law already are you?" asked Hogan suspiciously.

"You wound me, gov'na. No trouble at all, just need a wee favour," assured Newkirk.

"And what would that be?" asked Hogan, bracing himself.

"I need your approval on a bit of real estate LeBeau and me is lookin' to purchase."

"Why do you need my approval?" asked Hogan, puzzled.

"Well, it's in Germany," said Newkirk, as if that made everything perfectly clear.

"Germany," repeated Hogan, prompting Newkirk to explain further.

"Bavaria, to be precise and seein' as 'ow you're the bigwig in charge an' all…" hedged Newkirk.

"Where in Bavaria?" asked Hogan firmly.

"Oh, er, ah, 'ammelburg," stalled Newkirk, now having second thoughts about how his former CO was going to react.

"Hammelburg? Just what are you buying?" demanded Hogan.

There was a moment of silence which hung suspended like a drop of water from a leaky faucet just waiting to plummet to the sink below.

"Stalag 13." Newkirk dropped the bombshell and waited for the fallout.

Hogan was dumbfounded. "You want to _buy_ Stalag 13? Whatever for? Didn't you have enough of the place during the war?"

"Well, now that you mention it, sir, LeBeau and I are feelin' a little 'omesick for the place," answered Newkirk.

"I thought you were going to open a pub in London after the war?" questioned Hogan.

"Well, I was, sir, but due to a few circumstances beyond me control, that just wasna goin' ta 'appen anytime in the near future."

"And LeBeau was planning on a restaurant in Paris, wasn't he?" continued Hogan, intent on his interrogation of his former Corporal.

"Now, you see, 'e's 'ad a bit o' difficulty in that regards too, sir," replied Newkirk.

"So what do you want Stalag 13 for?" Hogan kept up the onslaught of questions.

"It was Schultz's idea really…" Newkirk was hedging again.

"_What was_?" growled Hogan.

"Well, he sort of suggested we should all open a beer garden together after the war."

"When was that?" asked Hogan in surprise.

"Back in '43."

"'43! So you're buying Stalag 13 to open a beer garden? Newkirk, have you gone 'bloody crackers' as you've so often put it?" asked Hogan in exasperation.

"Sir, I am 'ighly offended you would think I've lost me marbles," replied Newkirk with a haughty air.

"Newkirk…" said Hogan in his voice which meant business. Newkirk still hadn't forgotten the look which went with it either and immediately spilled the entire story.

"Alright, sir. The plan is for LeBeau and me to purchase Stalag 13. We want to preserve the place and open it as a museum dedicated to Papa Bear and his Operation, complete with the Mess as LeBeau's restaurant, and an Officer's Club as me pub. Schultz wants to 'elp out as a tour guide and I was thinkin' maybe Colonel Klink could 'elp too as part of 'is community service work 'e 'as ta do as part o' 'is war crimes sentence. What do you think?" Newkirk held his breath as he waited for Hogan's answer.

"I still think you're crazy," replied Hogan rubbing his forehead to ward off a looming headache. He was beginning to wish he was still back home where he didn't have to deal with the outlandish ideas of his former team mates. "This is as convoluted as any of the plans I concocted for the Operation. You're sure this is what you want to do? Stalag 13 as a tourist spot? What in the world gave you that idea? I'm not sure the sightseeing business is going to be so hot over the next few years you know."

"Well, it started with all the people you kept showin' the Operation to: first it was Tom, then Klink, General Patton, 'ochstetter... I was jokin' with LeBeau that we should start chargin' admission. The idea came back to us when we both realized startin' our own places was goin' ta be nigh impossible. And poor Schultz, his toy company was flattened by bombers at the end of the war and he couldn't face rebuilding it.

"As for if it will work, I think it will. Curiosity will be a big part o' it, sir. Everyone will want to see where Papa Bear ran 'is famous Operation from. We can even open some of the barracks as 'otel rooms. We can run a school program and teach the children what it was like to be a POW or a guard. The 'ogan's 'eroes Experience. You'll see sir, it'll work."

"Alright. Sounds like you've thought a lot of it through. Send me the paper work and I'll get it approved for you, if you're certain this is what you both want," said Hogan, scribbling some notes on a pad beside the phone.

"It is, sir. Thank you, sir. You won't regret it!" exclaimed Newkirk.

"As long as you don't. Keep me apprised of how it's going. I'd like to see the place before it opens – make sure you aren't exposing anything Classified."

"Will do sir. I'll get the papers to you within a fortnight. Goodbye sir, and thanks again!"

"Goodbye, Peter," said Hogan and hung up the phone. He sat back in his chair and tried to envision Stalag 13 as a tourist trap with throngs of people climbing up and down the bunk ladder and exploring the tunnels; dining in the Mess on LeBeau's apple strudel, Spam with Béarnaise sauce, or perhaps stroganoff, then having a pint at Newkirk's Officer's Club. Then he pictured Grade 6 students falling out for roll call after spending the night in a barracks on a school overnight trip, discovering what it was like to be a POW.

The more Hogan thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It gave him a warm feeling inside knowing the history would be preserved for generations to come. The opportunity would be there for those in the future to study the sacrifices made by so many for their freedom. Hopefully they would learn from the mistakes of the past and another war like this one would never happen again, thanks in part to Papa Bear's legacy. It wasn't what he had in mind when he had created the Operation, but it was an end result Major General Robert Hogan could accept with pride.

_

* * *

_

Hamburg,

_Germany, British Zone of Occupation_

"Waaahhhh! Waah! Waaahhhh!" The cries from the wooden cradle echoed through the tiny apartment over the main street butcher shop.

"Hush, hush, little one, everything's alright, Mutter's here," cooed his mother, picking up the wailing infant and soothing his cries with some milk. She watched her son as he drank his fill, marvelling in his soft skin, button nose, and large eyes that seemed to take in the entire world. He was perfect and she loved him with her entire being. Her eyes misted as she remembered his father and wondered what had happened to him when Berlin fell. He had been so brave, answering the Führer's summons and marching off to do his duty, defending the city so she had a chance to flee before the Russians came. That man had given her something precious her husband had not. Perhaps some day she would find him or learn of his fate, but for now, this tiny being was her whole life and she wouldn't trade him for the world.

The infant gave a tiny burp and burbled contentedly, settling in against his mother's chest to sleep as she moved back and forth in the rocking chair before the fire. She placed a soft kiss against his jet black hair and rested her cheek against his head. Rubbing his back, she murmured quietly, "Sleep now, my sweet little Erlich. Mama will keep you safe…"

The End

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A/N: A fortnight is 2 weeks. Spam is made by Hormel.

Schultz's bier garten (beer garden) plan is from Season 1 episode 22, The Pizza Parlour.

Although we celebrate VE Day (May 8) as the end of WWII in Europe, and VJ Day (Sept 2) as the end of the war against Japan, the state of war was not lifted from Japan and Germany at that time in order to give a reason for occupational troops to be in these countries. Once the War Crimes Trials were over, the hostilities were seen as finished. Presidential Proclamation 2714, was signed by US President Harry S. Truman on December 31, 1946 to officially declare the cessation of all hostilities in World War II by American forces. This is the reason why the U.S. recognizes its World War II veterans as anyone who has served between the dates of December 7, 1941 and December 31, 1946.

The idea for Newkirk to preserve Stalag 13 stems directly from a real-life battle which happened in my town last fall – to prevent the demolition of the buildings which once were Camp 30, a German POW camp.

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A big thank you to everyone who left a review, added Executions to their favourites, or just quietly enjoyed the story. A special thanks to Bits and Pieces, snooky-9093, and ColHogan for their contributions, suggestions, and encouragement. It's hard to believe it is finally over.

One final quiz about my original German characters; I borrowed their first names from the Von Trapp family children from Rogers and Hammerstein's The Sound of Music. See how many of these characters you can recall:

Liesl  
Louisa  
Kurt  
Friedrich  
Brigitta  
Marta  
Gretl

I also squeezed in Maria.

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Answers:

Liesl – waitress at the _Bier Stube_, killed in the air raid that destroys the restaurant  
Louisa – Red Cross administrator who deals with Hochstetter's inquiry on Hogan's paperwork  
Kurt – boy with anti-tank missile on the streets of Berlin, befriended by Carter  
Friedrich – Luftwaffe adjutant who informs Hogan that Stalag 13 was liberated  
Brigitta – café waitress at Hotel Adlon who spends the night with Strauss/Hogan and ends up a single mother  
Marta – one of Hitler's secretaries  
Gretl – Hochstetter's nurse in the Krankenhaus (hospital)  
Maria – woman with daughter Hogan helps through the streets of Berlin to reach her uncle's house

Until next time, cheers and happy reading!  
Oboe11


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